


Binge

by Collective_Challenge



Category: Grey's Anatomy, Japril - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Crime, Drama, F/M, Family, Fantasy, Horror, Humor, Mystery, Romance, Sci-Fi, Supernatural - Freeform, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-02-24 02:16:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 125,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13203633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Collective_Challenge/pseuds/Collective_Challenge
Summary: Japril Fanfiction Challenge #3 written for you by us. Just another challenge run by one of us featuring several Japril fics inspired by different TV shows (you know the good ones that don't give you high blood pressure) to be released over the next coming weeks. Enjoy





	1. The Challenge

**The Challenge**

Hi everyone! We are back! This time we thought we would explore Japril in different TV shows.

Two works of fan fiction will be posted each week! Here's where you guys come in. Leave a review, guess the author and the show. At the end of the challenge let us know which story you liked the best! :)

The authors are:

Mel (MelMel1234)

Faz (FaziO)

Ann (Japril12)

Melissa (Melissaeverdeen13)

Jerry (Jerry_L aka Delicatenachocollector)

Heather (Imayhaveapoint)

Veronica (Averysanatomy)

Eve (LeandraDeRaven)

Zee (Fuckwithdacey)

Maggie (Another-Maggie)

Gwen (Alongwalktoforever)

Nicole (Cendella)

Truli (Demitruli aka japrilgreys)! :)

We would love it if you could all take the time to leave reviews because that is part of the challenge aspect of this! There is so much work that goes into making this possible. what you see is the result of months of planning, coordination, writing and editing! It's a LOT of work that we love doing BUT it would mean a lot if you could take the time to leave a review just as a nod of appreciation for all the work the writers put in.

Thank you.

Much love.

Enjoy!

\- Ann

 **Disclaimer:**  All characters belong to Shonda Rhimes, Shondaland, Grey's Anatomy and… ABC? All series belong to **their** creators and networks.


	2. Blood by Jerry_L

“Kepner, can you explain why we seem to be missing quantities of blood from the hospital supply?” Bailey inquired.

“Uh, no Chief. Why ask me?”

“Because the discrepancies between what we’re supposed to have in supply and what we do, exactly match several orders with your signature on them.”

“Really? Can I see the orders?” April was mystified. Most trauma surgery orders went through Owen Hunt, head of the department. April rarely required blood delivered directly to the ER.

Bailey picked up some papers from her desk and offered them to the trauma surgeon. “Here, take a look. That is your signature, isn’t it?”

April looked closely at the signatures on the forms. They clearly were meant to look like hers but, while close, weren’t quite perfect. What to do? Best to keep Bailey in the dark, for now at least.

“Yes, Chief, now that I see the orders, I remember. We had a hemophiliac come in three times recently. It was crazy.”

“Well, why wasn’t the blood accounted for in the ER then? The records say it was ordered but there are no corresponding records that indicate it was used.”

“My mistake, Chief, I wanted the interns to practice record keeping but they must have screwed it up.”

“Well, get it unscrewed. I have enough things to worry about without having to track down missing units of blood.”

“On it, Chief,” April answered. She quickly made her way out of Bailey’s office. First stop would be the blood bank. She needed to know who was signing her name on blood orders. Once she knew that, she might gain some insight as to why they were doing it too.

“You wouldn’t happen to remember who brought these orders up from the ER do you?”

“Doctor Kepner, we might fill orders for a hundred units of blood every day. How am I supposed to keep track of which peon you send up here from your department?”

The tech manning the desk at the blood bank clearly thought April was off her rocker with that kind of question.

“I understand. It’s just that it’s likely that the same person brought down all four orders.” April prompted. She really needed a lead to follow.

“They could have picked up forty orders, still wouldn’t notice ‘em. Unless they got an extra nose growing out of their forehead, you're all the same in those white coats.”

April sighed in frustration. How in the world was she going to figure this out?

Just then, though, another figure appeared behind the counter.

“Hey Tim, how's it going?”

“Much better now that I see you here, Janet. Means my day is just about over and I can go catch the Hawks on Monday Night Football.”

“Whatcha got here?”

“This Doctor Kepner is trying to find out which of her interns has been f’ing up her ER blood requests.”

“Kepner? That name is familiar.”

April’s eyes came up immediately.

“Oh, yeah, now I remember. Four nights in a row we get orders from the ER. Usually, we might send blood to the ER once or twice in a week. So that was unusual. And the guy who picked it up! Oh my God, he is something else. Those eyes...” Janet had clearly been impressed by whoever it was that April was looking for.

“Do you remember his name?” April asked.

“Of course. When a guy looks like that, you notice. That’s how I recognized your name. I noticed he was always picking up for you. Working nights, I don’t see your name too often, so that was different too. But this guy is so beautiful, I’d be lying if I said I’d have remembered if not for him.” Janet answered wistfully.

“His name?” April repeated, growing somewhat impatient.

“Oh yeah, Angel, or Amory, no…, Avery, that’s it, Avery,” Janet replied.

“Avery what?” Demanded April.

“No, that’s his family name. Jackson is his first name. Jackson Avery.” Corrected Janet.

Jackson Avery? April recognized the name even though she had never met the man. The Avery’s were a famous medical family and she had heard that a Doctor Avery had just joined the Grey Sloan staff as an ENT surgeon. Now, it was apparently this Doctor Avery, Jackson Avery, that was forging her name on blood requisitions. But for what reason? And why use her name? They had never met and she was surprised that Jackson, she hated last names as first names, Avery would know who she was, much less what her signature looked like.

Plus, she always worked days while apparently this Doctor Avery only worked nights, which in itself struck her as weird. Why would an ENT work nights? This was all very bizarre.

Thanking the blood bank techs, April made her way back toward the ER, thinking about what she should do next.

He was carrying two units of O-NEG when he found his path blocked by a pretty redhead in blue scrubs.

“Excuse me.” He said, trying to manoeuvre around the woman. But she moved along with him, continuing to impede his progress.

“Where are you headed with that blood?” She asked.

“Who are you, the plasma police?” He replied, flashing her a dazzling smile that no female could resist.

“Plasma police? Now that’s funny.” Now that she was seeing him in person, April had to agree with blood tech Janet; Jackson Avery was gorgeous. Those eyes of his. They are otherworldly beautiful, April thought. “Doctor Avery, I’m afraid I need an answer. What are you going to do with that blood?”

Jackson looked at her carefully, wondering who she was, why she apparently knew who he was, and why she appeared immune to his charms, for the moment at least.

“I’m sorry, you appear to have the advantage, Miss...?”

“How about you answer my question and then I’ll answer yours?” April replied.

“Okay, if you must know, I’m taking these down to the ER. We have word of a major MVC and want to be ready.”

“So, you’re a trauma surgeon? Funny, thought you were an ENT.”

“Just helping out down there tonight,” Jackson answered coolly. He needed to be careful. Whoever this was, she knew a lot more about him than he did about her.

“Who’s in charge down there tonight?” April asked.

Uh-oh, thought Jackson. “I think her name is Kepner. Sorry, I just started here a couple of weeks ago. Still learning the players.”

“Yeah, that's kinda obvious. Otherwise you'd know that Kepner works days, mostly, and in fact wrapped up her day shift a few hours ago.”

“Well, that is embarrassing. Here I've been calling someone the wrong name all night.” Jackson replied, again focusing his charm on the petite woman in front of him. But April wasn't having any of that.

“All week, actually, according to the blood requisitions you've been bringing down. But you're not the only one with a problem identifying Doctor Kepner. Someone seems to be having trouble remembering their own name when signing for blood so they've been signing Kepner instead.”

“Yes, that is strange.” Jackson agreed warily.

This woman was obviously aware of what was going on. Now he was curious to see what she knew and, more importantly, what she was going to do about it.

“So, I held up my part and told you why I have the blood. Now, why don't you hold up yours and tell me who I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

“Did you, though, tell me why you have the blood? Or did you give me some made up cover story because you don't want to tell me the real reason you forged Kepner's signature to steal blood from the blood bank?”

Jackson dropped all pretense of charming friendliness. “Look, lady, this is really none of your business. So, unless you want to tell me who you are and why you think you can accuse me of this nonsense, I'd suggest you step aside and let me be on my way. You really don't want any part of this. Trust me.”

April looked up at him, a hint of a cold smile playing on her lips. Jackson didn't like that. Most women, alone with a man in a deserted corridor of the hospital at night, would have been nervous, if not outright afraid. This tiny woman though betrayed no fear whatsoever. Quite the opposite in fact. She almost seemed eager for something to happen. Who the hell is this? Whoever she is, he was sure her attitude would be entirely different if she knew what she was really up against here. Good thing for her he was willing to go to great lengths to keep her from knowing.

April, meanwhile, was thinking somewhat along the same lines, that Jackson Avery was clueless as to how determined she was to get to the bottom of this blood thing. But while he may have no inkling of who he was dealing with, she had her suspicions about him. She could put two and two together and see him, with his perfect features and the power that radiated from him, only served to confirm her theories. But this little escapade was still odd enough for her to be intrigued. Her curiosity was piqued. Why go to this much trouble to steal a few units of blood from a hospital?

“Trust you?” April laughed. “Crazy thing for a thief to say to the person who caught him. And I'm afraid you made it my business when you decided to forge my name to the blood requisitions.”

Jackson started. “Your name? Aww, crap. You're April Kepner. Fuck.”

“Now you've got it, genius. Whatever gave you the idea that using my name for your little scheme was a good idea?”

“I figured no one would question night-time requisitions from the head of Trauma,” explained Jackson, accepting that maintaining any further pretense was now out of the question. “Except I'm not the head of Trauma, dumbass. Couldn't trouble yourself to look that up in the staff directory?”

“But during my orientation, they said you run the ER. That's always the head of Trauma.”

“Not here, not always,” replied April. “Fuck!” Jackson repeated. He had made a lazy assumption that had tripped him up. He was getting careless in his old age.

“So, it's clear we can agree on the fact that you've been stealing blood from the hospital. What's not clear is why you would want to?” persisted April.

Jackson looked down at her. How was he going to get out of this? He really had just a small handful of choices; win her assistance, silence her, or disappear.

Winning her assistance seemed unlikely. She'd never believe the truth and seemed able to see through deceptions. Silencing her would introduce even more complications and besides, it was an undesirable habit he was trying to break. And something about this particular woman... He couldn't quite put his finger on it but he recognized an attraction. He was drawn to her in a way he'd never felt before. He recognized the seeds of a hunger for her that was as strong as, and totally different than, any hunger he had for any woman before her. Disappearing again was really the only choice left to him, though he was incredibly wary of it. And it would mean abandoning the efforts he had invested in establishing himself here. Ah well, such was his life.

“Look, Doctor Kepner, I'm afraid my reasons will have to remain a mystery. You wouldn't believe me if I told you anyway. You'll just have to be satisfied with my word that this is the last time you'll see or hear about me. I'll just walk away and disappear and you can be happy that you've solved the case of the missing blood and made the Grey Sloan blood supply safe for democracy again.”

He made as if to walk around her but she again moved to block his path. “I'm afraid that isn't good enough, Doctor Avery. You see, I sort of have a passion for resolving these kinds of incidents and leaving this with all these loose ends untied just won't, what's the word you used, satisfy me. You know how important it is to satisfy your passions, don't you?”

“What kinds of incidents might you be referring to, Doctor Kepner?” Jackson asked, his expression narrowing in suspicion. This woman talking about satisfying her passions was oddly arousing to him. “The kind involving taking blood that doesn't belong to you, Doctor Avery,” April answered. Jackson chuckled mirthlessly. This was a strange and unwelcome turn. Did she really believe...?

“Doctor Kepner, it almost sounds like you believe in vampires?” he said in a mocking tone.

April smiled. “Really? I didn't say anything about vampires. Interesting that you brought them up though. I'll bet you could even suggest a few ways I could test to see if someone was a vampire. Stuff like Holy Water, a Crucifix, making him wait till morning and exposing him to sunlight, or even just opening up one of those blood bags and seeing if he turns vamp.”

“Uh huh,” he answered, his striking blue eyes staring hard at the young woman. What had he stumbled into here? Suddenly other options were back on the table, by necessity.

“Let's just, for the sake of argument, say that vampires are real. Would it be wise for a young woman such as yourself to confront someone she might suspect of being one, alone, at night, in a deserted corner of a hospital?”

“Interesting question, Doctor Avery, particularly in light of the fact that it was I who actually chose this deserted corner of the hospital for the confrontation.”

Again, Jackson registered the fact that instead of the fear his question had been expected to inspire, April gave every indication that she felt none. And her point about choosing the time and place was both true and unnerving. But she couldn't possibly imagine how badly she had misjudged her danger, could she? Who was this April Kepner?

While Jackson believed himself incapable of fear, he recognized he was still susceptible to doubt. And right now, he acknowledged, he was consumed with it. He had played his hand or tried to, and she had blocked his escape. That left him to either reconsider his other options or try to force his way past her. Yet, now, he too was curious. How did April Kepner intend for this to proceed? Although he doubted he would approve of her plan, it didn't blunt his curiosity about it, and her.

“Okay, Doctor Kepner, may I call you April? Your move. For the record, I tried to resolve this the painless way. Hope you have something similar in mind.”

“Well, Jackson, since we're now on a first name basis, with your cooperation, I'm happy to provide a relatively painless end to this adventure.”

Jackson didn't need to be a mind reader to understand what that meant. This tiny little trauma surgeon was brimming with confidence that she could take down a vampire. She must be delusional. He wouldn't have given her a chance to kill even a novice idiot vamp, much less one like himself. Too bad, it's always the hot ones who are the craziest.

April continued, “But before we proceed to the inevitable conclusion of our little tête-à-tête, I would appreciate you telling me why. It really makes no sense. Why steal blood from a hard target like a hospital blood bank, where you work and know there are tracking records for everything when there are so many soft targets walking around?”

Jackson sighed. “As I mentioned earlier, if I told you, you wouldn't believe it, so what's the point?”

“I think we've already established the vampire thing so doesn't that take care of the disbelief problem?” responded April.

“Only partly.” Jackson considered. What did he have to lose really? “So if I were willing to concede the vampire thing, as you put it, you would still need an open mind about certain...uh... aspects of vampire life to believe my story.”

“Are you saying I'm close-minded about vampires?”

“I don't know you well enough to say that for certain but your remarks about certain inevitable conclusions certainly don't point to any open-mindedness on your part.”

“Whaaattt? You're accusing me of being a bigot?” April replied with ripe indignation.

“If the prejudice fits...”

“Oh, it is soon. And that painless thing from earlier? That's done.” April fumed.

“Ah, the voice of tolerance.”Jackson sarcastically uttered.

“Just get on with the story while I still care,” April growled.

Jackson smiled in spite of the situation. This girl was pretty cute when she was mad. “

Okay, so the common misconception is that all vampires are bad and just want to feed on people and turn them into more vampires and yadda yadda yadda.”

April couldn't help herself. “Misconception?” she asked, doubtfully. Jackson shot her a look that made her roll her eyes but she withheld further comment.

“Some vampires, however, just want to live in peace, and do everything they can to avoid causing trouble or harming anyone.” April scoffed.

Now Jackson was truly irritated. “Just what makes you such an authority on vampires anyway? Don't think watching The Vampire Diaries gives you any real insight into vampires.”

This hit a nerve with April. She was so sick of all those shows and their unrealistic portrayal of vampires and those who hunt them. It was almost as bad as the doctor shows. “For your information, I don't watch The Vampire Diaries. My information comes directly from personal experience and what my Watcher has taught me,” she said, before realizing that she had just given away her edge.

Jackson fixed his stare on her. “Your Watcher?” Unholy Crap! “You're a Slayer.”

“THE Slayer.” April corrected, embarrassed that she had revealed that. But no matter, she'd never met a vampire she couldn't dust. “Well, I know there's only supposed to be one but I heard ...”

“There's only one. That's the rule. Now, is there a point to your story because my staking finger is getting a little itchy.”

“Yeah, I don't know what that means but let me finish. So besides the vampires that just want to live in peace, there is one vampire who has what no other vampire has, a soul. And that vampire is me.”

“So I heard there is actually another vampire with a soul...”

“Unsubstantiated rumor. I'm the only vampire confirmed to have a soul.” Jackson protested vehemently.

“Just sayin’...” Jackson dismissed her interruption and continued, “Anyway, because I am the one vampire with a soul, I have made it my mission to help those other vampires who just want to quit feeding on people and live in peace. That's why I came here. I bought a big house, with heavy drapes, high-speed Internet, and a deluxe cable package. I take in vampires who want to come in out of the darkness and renounce evil.”

“Come in out of the darkness?” April repeated, dubiously.

“Figuratively, of course. We still don't do sunlight very well. Anyway, my point is I've been using the blood from the blood bank to wean some of my clients off of human blood and onto the blood of other animals, like cows for instance. It takes a little time but eventually I can get them off humans altogether.”

“Really? You expect me to believe that?”

“Why would I lie about that? Especially with all the hormones, they give cows these days. You have to be careful.”

“No, not the part about the cows, the part about how you are just helping vampires go straight.”

“Again, why would I lie about that?”

“Uh, to avoid me putting a stake through your heart and turning you into smog.”

“You're so cute. Listen, Slayer or no Slayer, you don't want any part of this bad boy. I didn't just fall out of a coffin like these other bozos you've been going around dusting. I've been around for a long long time and it takes more than a cool title to scare me. Besides, what a waste it would be for us to kill each other.”

“How so?”

“Well, it seems like we both want the same thing, right? Instead of fighting, maybe we should think about working together?”

“You want me, the Vampire Slayer, to partner with you, the incompetent vampire thief?” “I'm not usually that incompetent,” Jackson replied.

“But maybe it was the Powers that intervened so that we would meet.”

“You mean God wanted us together?”

“Potāto potăto” Jackson replied.

“My point is that maybe we were meant to meet. Maybe we are meant to be. Gotta admit it's an intriguing idea.”

“Yeah, I guess,” April admitted, somewhat begrudgingly, the idea had merit.

“So, we are going to be a team?”

“I think we should try it,” he answered.

She looked up at his face. “You want this? You really want this?”

Jackson nodded. “Me and you,” he replied.

“Me and you,” April answered. Has a nice ring to it, she acknowledged.

“And who knows, the two of us might even become a thing.” Jackson tendered with a smile.

“Whoa! We’re working together for like two seconds and already you’re starting with the sexual harassment? Do you live under a rock? That shit is over."

"Okay, okay, calm down.” Jackson raised his hands in surrender.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. We can keep it strictly professional if that’s what you want. Geez, you’re touchy.”

“Professional. At all times.” April affirmed.

“As you wish,” Jackson answered. Too bad, he thought, it's not like being with her would be the end of the world.


	3. Orphan Grey by Another-Maggie

I.

I'm a light sleeper. Seeing that I'm also a surgeon regularly working long hours that is not something I would call one of my better qualities. I always wake up when my wife wiggles into bed late at night. Or early in the morning, depending on her schedule. First, there's the ruffling of sheets. Then her cold feet slip in between mine, and I'm wide awake.

“Sorry,” she says, more out of routine than because she means it.

I usually just mumble “s'okay” into my pillow. One of my better qualities is that when woken I fall back to sleep easily. Tonight, is different, though.

My eyes wander to the red electronic numbers on the alarm clock. 4:34.

This is the fifth time in a period of three weeks that April is home late. And by late, I mean almost five hours late. We work at the same hospital. I know her schedule. One extra late surgery might explain one time being this late. But five times?

Don't get me wrong. This is April. My wife. My best friend. I trust her.

I just wished she'd trusted me enough to let me in on whatever is going on in her life.

Normally, we tell each other everything. The exciting and the boring parts. Just all of it. But since a few months now, April's been closing up.

No, okay, that's wrong. 'A few months now' sounds like I can't tell when it started, while, I can pinpoint the exact moment she started turning away from me. And the scariest part is, I don't think I had anything to do with it.

We didn't fight. In fact, we didn't see much of each other that day. It was a Saturday and she'd gone up to Loyal Heights to meet with an old friend, whom I didn't know. I was actually glad.

Ever since the move April had had a difficult time to make new friends. Personally, I think both of us will never make friends like we did before we lost those we thought we'd keep forever. The initial reason for our move had been a shooting at the hospital we'd worked at before. Our best friends died, and April lost our first child when she was shot. It was all too traumatic. We knew we couldn't stay there.

So, we moved. Started out fresh, so to say. New job, new house, new baby. It worked well, except for the friends part. So, when April told me she was reconnecting with someone she'd known before the shooting I viewed this as a great opportunity for her.

Well, that was until I got home to find April sitting in the nursery and holding onto a blanket for dear life. She was trembling, and her knuckles stood out white against her skin. I chalked it down to her PTSD; especially since she was holding the blanket she'd originally knitted for Samuel, our angel baby, that now belonged to Harriet, our daughter. I got her in a hot bath, called our nanny to take care of our baby overnight, and then just held my wife until she fell asleep. The next day she was back to normal. A normal PTSD attack. Well, not normal. But our normal.

She told me she talked about it at her appointment, and that she felt better. I believed her. There was no reason not to.

In hindsight, I could have realized this was about more. April was normally very verbal during her attacks. The part of her that blamed me for not taking the bullet that caused us to lose our firstborn child would emerge, and after she'd apologize heaves and bounds. She never wiped out. She always remembered. This time, though, she didn't talk during the attack. And the next morning, it was like she didn't recall any of it. Also, the fact that her last attack dated back to months before our daughter was born should have gotten me thinking. But it didn't.

Neither did the odd conversation we had about her being adopted. I'd known that for quite some time. Her parents never kept it a secret, and neither did she. When we first talked about it, she told me she'd never had any contact with her birth family, but she didn't miss it.

She didn't have much of a choice, anyway. When she'd been found early in the morning on the steps of St. George's in London there was nothing left with her that could help with finding her parents. Her uncle, a pastor at the church, informed her parents, who'd been looking into adoption for a while then. After a year of fostering she was legally adopted as April Grace Kepner; named by the state after her birth month. Her birth date was assumed to be April 23rd, St. George's Day, and, judging by the famous poet, a good day for a presumed birthday. Despite these strong English ties, her parents moved back to Ohio soon after, where she grew up. The rest of her childhood, so she'd say, was picture perfect.

Yet a few days after her unusual attack, she was suddenly thinking about a trip to London. Why? She wanted to find her birth family. All of a sudden, and with no apparent reason.

Her therapist said this might be a delayed reaction to Harriet's birth. Apparently, lots of new-parents who're adopted without any knowledge of their birth family develop this longing for some kind of closure once they're parents themselves. They see their child and start to wonder how their parents could give them up so easily when they couldn't picture themselves giving up their child for anything. At least, that's what April's therapist said.

So, being the good husband, I aim to be, I bought her a plane ticket to London for the weekend. I called her dad, got her uncle's number and arranged everything. Yet when I presented her with the ticket she was horrified, and absolutely refused to go. - Weird, right?

At this point, I knew I was on to something, although I didn't know what. And then the late nights started.

“Sorry,” she says, as she climbs in with her cold feet at 4:34 in the morning.

But this time, I don't mumble “s'okay” in my pillow, wrap my arm around her waist and go back to sleep. Instead, I turn around. In contrast to me, April's a heavy sleeper, but she doesn't go to sleep easily. How she survived months in a war zone is beyond me. She probably ran on coffee.

Her eyes open, because of the movement me turning causes. She seems taken aback. “Is everything okay?” she asks, maybe because I didn't tell her it is.

I shake my head, cup her face. Even in the dark, I can tell there are dark circles under her eyes. She must be exhausted... but from what?

April reaches over to repeat the gesture. She strokes my cheek. I haven't shaved in a couple of days. She doesn't like that, and still, she keeps her hand where it is. I sigh, leaning into her touch.

I trust her. I love her. I also need to know.

“This is the fifth time,” I tell her.

“Fifth time of what?” She keeps stroking my cheek. Whether that's to distract me or just because I can't tell.

“The fifth time you're way later than you should be, according to your schedule,” I clarify.

She bites her lower lip. It really turns me on when she does that. In other situations. Obviously. “I... The surgery was running late, and I...”

“Babe.” I've gotta stop her before she says something we'll both regret. “I trust you, okay? But please don't lie to me. We both know this doesn't happen five times in a row.”

She worries her lower lip. She knows I'm right.

Abruptly, she sits up and turns on the light. Now I can see she's just in her underwear. Her clothes lie splattered across the floor. It's something she only does when she gets home later than I. Usually, she hates this kind of chaos.

“Jackson... I love you more than anything. You know, that right?” I nod, head propped up onto an elbow. I'm a bit too tired to sit up. She sighs.

“Alright, then... You remember how I wanted to find my family, like, two months ago?”

Again, I nod. Canceling all of it was quite the hustle. Especially telling her uncle we weren't coming. Apparently, he'd already cooked for a party of 50 in advance.

“This has something to do with these...” She waves her hands around in the air. “...meetings.”

“Okay, then... so you've found your family?” I conclude uncertainly. I don't want to upset her by making the wrong assumption.

April blinks rapidly. “Sisters,” she says finally, in a raspy voice. “I found my sisters.”

II.

April never struck me as a single child. Although raised as one, her need to share with and care for others would have you think she was raised with at least three siblings if not more. I mean, judging from my own single child perspective. The thought of her having sisters feels very natural to me. So, the second most natural thing would be to invite them, so they can get to know our family, right?

But to April it isn't. There's horror on her face when I suggest it, a few days after she's told me about them. She shakes her head. “No. No, we can't do that.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because...” She's obviously grasping for reasons that will set me at peace. But the way she's doing this is doing the opposite. Maybe there are no sisters after all... “Because I'm not ready to have these two parts of my life meet.”

I slump on one of the chairs next to the breakfast bar. “I don't get it,” I tell her, truthfully. I don't.

She takes the second chair – we really need to consider a third once Hattie's a little older – props her arm up unto the counter, and sighs.

“I just can't quite wrap my head around it myself right now. We're all so different. I look at them, and I see me; see what I could have been, and I'm just... me.”

This is not the first time April's been vocal about her insecurities. She's been pretty much bullied all through middle and high school, only to remain an outcast once she got to college and uni. The hospital was really the first place she felt partially accepted... and then our friends died. And our baby died. And everything changed.

I grab her hand. “Hey,” I say, to make her look at me. “You're perfect. You know that, right?”

She rolls her eyes, ready to pull back her hand and walk away. Accepting compliments never came easily to her.

“Hey! I'm serious. You're a fantastic mom, the best wife one could ask for, and one of the lands' best trauma surgeons,” I stress. “You don't need to measure up to anyone but yourself.”

Her fingers brush against my hand where we're touching. She blushes. “Thanks.”

I smile. “You're welcome. And I won't like any of your sisters better than you, promise.”

This earns me a smack on the back of my head. But my wife is smiling, and that means more to me than the dull ache.

III.

Like a week after our second talk, April announces that her sisters will be coming over to ours for their next meetup. She also says that she'd rather wouldn't have me attend.

“They're just not ready yet,” she tells me, “Don't take it to heart.”

And I don't, really. I'm not bothered. I stalled meeting April's parents for over a year. She'd been my first girlfriend serious enough for this stuff. The thought of meeting her dad, a farmer who did everything with his own to hands – from cradle to crave (of his cows, and sometimes dogs), scared the hell out of me. Given my own relatively disinterested upbringing I don't really value family like April does. Never have. So, I don't take it to heart when her sisters want to wait a little while longer to meet me.

I'm also a scientist, though, and naturally curious. My wife knows this. She has to expect me to stroll through sometime that evening. She also can't expect me to stay hidden in one part of our house while there's a party going on in the other.

I do restrain myself, though, I do. I can hear them enter the house one after the other, three total, around six p.m. But I stay hidden in our bedroom, chilling with Hattie and her newest chewing toy. That is until I hear a male voice. Which means, one of her sisters' spouses is allowed to come while I have to avoid one area of my own home? No way, Jose!

Thank god, our baby is still pretty young and I'm still pretty clueless (although neither a virgin nor in lack of a driving license). This gives me the perfect excuse to always barge in on my wife. She'd rather have me interrupt her phone calls than feeding our daughter solids that she's not yet approved of.

I've got plenty of reasons to go with. But the best thing right now seems to be the new schedule April has established for Harriet, now that she's eleven months old. I can easily pretend I've forgotten that her bedtime is still six o'clock and that I should feed her a quarter hour prior to that. It's totally believable.

When I turn the corner to the dining room I'm excited. This is April's birth family, and I really would like to see them. If only just for a moment.

“Babe, do you-” I start, but stop as soon as my eyes hit her company.

There's April. And then there's April with dreads. And April with bangs. And April with smudged eye makeup. Four Aprils. My head spins.

I can't faint, though. It really doesn't fit my personality. I never faint. I didn't even faint when we had our first autopsy class with that morbid professor that had everybody either fainting or throwing up (didn't do that, either). I'm not about to start fainting now. Not even when I'm seeing my wife four times and my blood alcohol reads 0,0. Nope. Not happening.

“Jackson,” April says in a whiny tone. Out of thin air, she's materialized next to me, her hands steadying me as I sway. She's obviously distressed. Can't tell who of us is more distressed. Probably me. There are still three more Aprils at our table. They all look concerned themselves. Their frowns match.

“I...” I let myself be guided to a chair by the April I think is my actual wife.

Bangs-April fidgets with her hands and bites her lower lip. Maybe she's the right one after all. “I'm so sorry. This was a terrible idea, our place would have been a better option, I... I'll go get a glass of water,” she announces, and – true to her word – leaves.

“Jesus, April. Couldn't you tell him to just stay out for the night?” another complains... with a heavy British accent?!!

Okay. This must be a dream. It's gotta be. My mind is playing tricks on me. April was born in London so my brain gives her a Cockney drawl. She opted for Cuba for our next holiday, so that's where dreads-April comes into the picture. And bangs-April...? Well, she could be a representation of the April that wasn't respected by everyone. The one who cared more about what others thought than for herself. Thank god, that one's gone.

I blink. Once, twice. You can make a conscious dream go away. That's what I remember from my time working at the sleep unit anyway. Even though I wasn't the one sleeping I didn't take too much of that with me for my further career. It's whatever.

The noise of a glass being placed on our table withdraws me from my thoughts. Bangs-April has put it there, and she still looks distressed.

“Is he alright?”

I'm fine, I want to tell her, but I can't move my mouth. That's very typical for dreams. I'm not worried.

“Drink, Jackson,” my wife April – I'm convinced it's her even in this dream setting – takes the glass and puts it to my lips. For some reason, I obey. I'm not thirsty, though.

“We shouldn't have come here,” goes Miss UK from the other end of the table. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, and she's glaring at me. I don't like her... I think. “There are enough people involved as it is. We don't need him caught up in this shit as well.”

“Excuse me?” April next to me says, pushing her hands on her hips. Yep, pretty sure that's my wife. “All your family is allowed to know, and mine isn't? I share everything with Jackson, and I'm sick of keeping this a secret. What does it matter whether one more person is involved?”

“It puts all of us into danger!”

“Well, that's funny. You know, I thought making me aware is what put us,” real life April points back and forth between the two of us, “into danger. They might have never found us if you hadn't-”

“Bullshit,” Queen April snarls, “Your face is all over the internet with that foundation and all...” She waves dismissively. “It's a wonder we got to you before they did, and really, you should be grateful.”

The April standing next to me blushes a deep red. I decide it's time for me to intervene.

“So... you guys are like quadruplets?” Because even if this is my mind playing a fucked up trick on me I can at least get the larger picture. Maybe I want to get to know all sides of April and this is why I'm dreaming crazy like this.

European April laughs. Bangs-April wrings her hands, again. My wife doesn't move a muscle.

No.

It's the dreadlock and glasses version of the woman I love that leans over and says in a very serious tone: “We're not quadruplets, Jackson. We're clones.”

IV.

When you go from not knowing your wife's birth family to finding out that she doesn't have one since she's actually a clone, daughter of none, - it's a lot.

I'm not heavily into science. Fiction, I mean. Science, yes. Fiction, not so much. Like. I watched Back to the Future and Star Wars. But since I'd been personally victimized by one particularly creepy X-Files episode I'd stayed away from that stuff. The closest I'd come to watching any mystery at all had been Lost. Come to think about it, that X-Files episode tackled clones, of all things. Seems kind of ironic now.

The first week or so after meeting April's... sisters, for lack of a better word, I was confused. Of course, she remained the person I loved so much. My best friend, my wife. But in the back of my head I had several other versions of her, and sometimes, I just couldn't push them away.

I wondered a lot about April. What life might have been like for her if she'd been adopted by Alison's parents? Would she have come to be the same soccer type Seattle raised and based, Pinterest affine super mom she'd (enviously?) told me her sister was? Starring in district amateur musicals and running for school trustee? What would have happened if it had been April adopted by Cosima's parents? Would she wear dreads? Would she date girls? And what would have happened to April if she'd never been legally adopted at all? Would she be restless like her British born (well, I guess, raised) sister Sarah?

One thought in particular haunted me: had I fallen in love with somebody else if they'd been raised in her place?

Now, this might come across as a bit crazy, especially since I'm not the superstitious type and I don't come across as being in this kind of stuff. Or so I've been told. But. Anyway, when it comes to April I’ve always broken my rules. I didn't know immediately when I met her, but soon after I got to know her, grew to love her I found myself pondering the question of soulmates. Eventually, I reached the conclusion that they do exist, and I'd found my mind. I popped the question the day after, within the year we were married. The rest, they say, is history.

But.

Soulmates indicate fate. We both had to grow up as we did, choose the careers we chose, and finally meet when we did. And we most certainly did. Which proved my theory.

That was until her sisters came along and I learned that her placement with Karen and Joe had been completely arbitrary.

Okay, not completely arbitrary. April was born as Sarah's triplet sister. Like, not a clone, but an actual triplet. The embryonic cell of one of them split within the first nine days after conceiving and so they'd come to multiply. Along with their third sister, a girl named Milena whose MIA atm, they'd been born in London. That's also how she ended up on the steps of the church. However, according to Sarah, their birth mother told the doctors to give “two to the church, and one to the state”, which means April might have actually ended up being raised by Sarah's foster mom, or should I say, mum? Siobhan. Or, even more likely, had she been given to the wrong pastor she might have ended up being raised in a convent in Ukraine. Then she'd eventually become a killer on the mission to kill the “copies” made of her (those I call April's sisters) for dubious religious reasons.

It's the old debate: nature vs. nurture.

Though I know enough twin studies to be aware that nature plays a part to a great degree in this field, it just made me wonder what might have been.

V.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

If I wasn't tied to a chair right now I think I'd take a lot of vocal offence to this woman's statement. This woman, who looks like a Bryce Dallas Howard in Jurassic World version of my wife. This woman, who isn't my wife. This woman, who had me abducted and tied to a chair, and is now attempting small talk in the poshest English accent I've ever heard.

Hey! She could have just asked.

“April?” I say, eyebrows raised. Chances are she knows I know, but a guy can try.

She sits down on a chair opposite from me and props her elbows onto the glass table between us, so she can rest her head on her folded hands. “You're rather sweet,” she tells me, “But not very clever thinking I'd fall for this trick. We both know you know who I am.”

I narrow my brows. “Yeah? You're my wife...?”

Not-my-wife smiles. It's poisonous. “We both know that's not true.”

“Look...” I grasp for words, exasperated. “I know we said we'd spice it up a little, Apes. But this is taking it a bit far, don't you think?”

The smile dies. She sits up straight. “Jackson Avery. Born July 17th, 1986. Raised by Dr Catherine Avery, left by Dr Robert Avery when you were five. Social Security Number 983-210-454-”

“And you claim you don't remember the Netflix password!”

She goes one without missing a beat: “You married April Kepner, subject 331C22x, five years ago. After a hospital shoot in which you lost colleagues, friends, and your first child” The way she stresses that makes me feel uncomfortable. “You moved to Seattle. You had another child, Harriet Reed. She's fifteen months old as of today... and I'm sure I don't need to remind you that besides her cousin Kira she's the only child ever having been born to a LEDA?”

I grit my teeth, but I don't answer. I knew we weren't safe in Seattle anymore, not once we learned that Cosima's girlfriend had 'monitored' more than just 324B21's progress. But I had no idea how bad it was. How valuable April was, or Harriet until Sarah came clean the other day.

I guess as soon as the flight booking came through for the three of us, we were put on Dyad's Wanted list. At the moment, I can only hope April and Harriet are safe.

“Very interesting child, too... you know, how she almost died when she was born? Both of them, really. A C-section on a friend's kitchen table, was it?”

I keep silent. This woman has all the answers anyways.

“Isn't it fascinating how it says 'initial apnea' on the report from the first responders. And yet when they arrived at the hospital she was breathing as if she'd never done something else?” The clone raised by Neolution shakes her head. “But your son was even more amazing.”

My eyes widen without me having any control. Samuel and what happened to him are sore points, to say the least. Her, of all people, bringing him up feels like a great violation.

“Diagnosed with Osteogenesis Imperfecta Type 2 at 25 weeks. Twelve in utero fractures. And then you go in for a second opinion, and they tell you there's absolutely nothing wrong with your child.” She meets my eye; however, I turn my head. Somehow, she just manages. I don't wanna see her. I don't wanna think about this in front of her. “Thank God you went in for that second opinion the day before you were going to induce. He probably wouldn't have lived. But then he didn't do that anyway...”

“Shut up!” I yell. I can't help myself. This is the darkest chapter of my life, and I don't want to relive it.

She leans back and grins. “Genetically, he did have Type 2. But they never told you that. They found out after he'd died, so they didn't think it was relevant. Fascinating.”

The sound the chair makes when she pushes it back sends shivers down my spine. I remember the sound of another chair, toppling over, and behind it: April, unconscious, but eyes wide open. And blood, so much blood...

“It's good April had you back then. You two really must love each other,” the woman says, “Let's see how much she loves you.”

VI.

She loves me. She loves me enough to walk into a trap she knows she won't be able to escape. She loves me enough to do what they never quite could push Sarah to do.

But then, they never kidnapped Sarah's husband (she doesn't have one) and threatened to kill him if she didn't take his place.

It's been two days since April walked into Dyad to get me out of there. I'm at Siobhan's, holding my daughter close to my chest as we sit and wait. Siobhan's sitting next to me, and next to her is Sarah's stepbrother Felix. Sarah herself is somewhere close to Dyad, ready to pick up April if the plan works.

I'm not sure whether it's a good one or a safe one. It's the only one. The only hope we have of saving April from becoming a lab rat for a so-called greater cause.

I can't believe our life has come down to this. A month ago, we were celebrating Harriet's first cohesive sentence as a family of three. Now, our daughter has gained a handful of aunts and other relations but also lost all of the security we used to have. Just like Sarah's daughter Kira, she's a prized possession. And if they didn't have April to extract egg cells from so they can make their own little fascinating second generation, I'm sure they'd be hunting down the girls.

We can only hope that they're not successful. Neither in exploiting April nor in every attempt of getting to our children.

“They won't be long now, luv,” Siobhan murmurs softly. I don't know if she's trying to reassure me, Kira, or herself. In my case, she's little help.

Our bags are next to the door, packed and ready for our big move.

Iceland. We can't tell anyone where we're going, or why. I feel bad about this, especially because of my mom. She'll be worried sick. But for my family's safety, I have to keep radio silence. Siobhan's promised a friend will check up on her. It's not the same.

The phone we have specifically for communicating among clone club rings. I reach for it with one hand, keeping Hattie steady with the other. Siobhan's faster.

It's just a text. Three words. We're out. Right now, those are better than the famous I love you.

*

We sit in the back of the van, April, Hattie and me. Just the three of us.

Well, three plus one. Egg retrieval during pregnancy was too risky, even for the Dyad Institute.

Although that part of the contract fell flat, April is exhausted from being probed and examined for hours on end. The news made her nervous, too. Odds are, they'll want to get their hands on this baby more badly than they've ever wanted to get their hands-on Harriet or Kira.

I feel cautiously confident, with my wife's head slumped against my shoulder while she sleeps. We've fought and conquered loss and tragedy, yet here we are.

And something tells me there's no one of all the hundreds of clones out there I'd rather be with.


	4. More Than A Best Friend by Melissaeverdeen13

Dear Nev and Max, 

My name is Jackson and I’m 23 years old. I’m not actually writing to you guys because I’M the one being Catfished. I’m emailing on behalf of my best friend, April. 

She’s been talking to this guy, William, for about a year now. They matched on Tinder and have a lot of the same core values. They’re both religious, both grew up conservative, and both want to have a family someday. She was never big on guys in school, so the fact that he’s giving her attention for who she is… I think that’s what drew her in. 

They text all the time. We live in Seattle, and he lives in Tacoma. That’s only a 40-minute drive away, and yet every time April tries to meet up with him, he comes up with an excuse. They’ve never video-chatted, either. He says his front camera is broken. 

We watch your show all the time, and I’ve tried to show her the logic and convince her that William isn’t who he says he is, but she doesn’t believe me. Can you guys help her out? 

Hope to hear back soon,  
Jackson

I’m sitting in front of my laptop when the notification pops up - an incoming Skype call from a contact I don’t have saved. I answer, knowing who it’ll be, and hear the voices I’ve only heard before on TV. 

“Hey!” they chorus, and the faces of Nev and Max come into view on my screen. 

“Hey, guys,” I say, smiling. 

“So, you must be Jackson,” Max says. 

“Yeah,” I reply, nodding. 

“Well, we got your email,” Nev says. “And this isn’t about you, correct? This is about your best friend.” 

“Right,” I say. “Yeah, April.” 

“And does she know you contacted us?” Max asks. 

I clear my throat. “Uh, yeah,” I say. “She does. I told her before I sent the email. I honestly didn’t think you guys would answer, but I told her anyway. She’s uh…” I laugh nervously. “She’s kinda pissed, honestly. But at the same time, she really wants to meet William. So, I think it’s worth it for her.” 

“So, she’s in?” Max clarifies. 

“Yeah,” I say. “She’s in.” 

“Tell us more about your friendship with her,” Nev says. 

“Oh, yeah,” I say. “Well, we’ve been close since we were babies. Our moms were pregnant at the same time, we’ve been built-in friends since the womb, pretty much. We grew up together in Seattle, went to school together, we’re pretty much inseparable. She’s the person I’m closest to in my life, you know, so I don’t wanna see anything bad happen to her.” 

“And you think something bad would happen to her in regards to this guy?” Max asks. 

“I mean, yeah, kind of,” I say, shrugging. “He’s only shown her the same four pictures over and over again. They talk on the phone a lot, but I don’t think that says much. I watch your show. People do some crazy stuff pretending to be someone else.” 

“That they do,” Nev says, exchanging a glance with his co-host. “Hey, Jackson, you’ve been great. Is there any way we can get April in on this call, too?” 

“For sure,” I say. “Uh, she’s actually here at my house right now. Let me grab her. One sec.” 

I get up from my desk and walk to the living room where April is on the couch eating frosting with a spoon, watching TV. 

“Hey,” I say. “Nev and Max are on Skype. They wanna talk to you.” 

She shoots me a surprised look, eyes wide and disbelieving. “Nuh-uh,” she says, frosting stuck to her lips. 

“Yeah,” I say. “They called me. They wanna talk to you about William.” 

“Oh, my gosh,” she says, setting the frosting container down and smoothing her hair. “This is crazy. Hold on. I need to brush my hair.” 

After she considers herself presentable, we go back into my room and sit in front of the computer. A year ago, I would’ve never noticed the way her arm brushed mine when we settled next to each other, but now, the goosebumps on my skin won’t go away. 

“Hey, you must be April,” Max says. “You’re gorgeous. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Oh,” she says, blushing. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say.” 

The two guys chuckle. “You don’t have to say anything,” Nev says. “We just wanna hear more about your friend, William.” 

She folds her hands in her lap, sitting up straighter, on the defense. “William and I started talking about a year ago,” she says. “We matched on Tinder. It was one of those things where I didn’t really know why I was on it, but I just was. And I thought he was really cute, so I swiped right on him. I couldn’t believe it when it came up as a match, and I never thought he’d message me. But he did. He sent me this really cheesy pickup line-” 

“Gotta tell us,” Max says. “We have a collection started at this point.” 

Her cheeks flame. “Is it hot in here, or is that the Holy Spirit burning inside you?” 

“Oh!” the guys chorus together, and I shake my head. 

“I know, it’s cheesy,” she says. “But we’re both religious. It says that on my profile, so I thought it was really funny. I messaged him back, and it just went from there.” 

“Do you guys talk every day?” 

“Every day, yeah,” she says. 

“Have you talked to him today?” Max asks.

“Yeah,” she says. “He always sends me a ‘good morning’ text.” 

“A ‘good morning, beautiful?’” Nev asks, eyebrows raised expectantly. 

“Of course,” April says, cheeks still red. 

I want to vomit. 

“So, you two talk every day, yet he won’t video chat with you,” Nev says. “No Skype, no FaceTime… does he Snapchat?” 

She shakes her head. “No,” she says. “No, he doesn’t have social media. He says he’s too busy for it.” 

“No social media…” Max says, sounding suspicious. “Yet he had enough time to not only troll Tinder, but think of that genius pick-up line.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know,” she says. 

“Have you ever tried searching his name on Facebook?” Nev asks. 

She shakes her head. “I haven’t really seen a reason to,” she says. 

“Okay,” Nev says. “And how much do you know about this guy? How old is he, where’s he work, he lives near you, Jackson said. What’s the excuse for not being able to meet up? Do you think he could possibly… have a wife? Kids?” 

April blanches. “No, no way,” she says. “He would never lie to me about something like that. He’s my age, just a little older. He works at Windermere Real Estate, he sells houses.” 

“A real estate agent,” Max says, nodding. “Nice.” 

“Yeah,” she says, then glances at me. “He does well for himself. He said he’d like for us to live together someday, and he could support me, too. I write novels, so it’s kinda hard for me to make money before I sell anything.” 

“How kind,” I mutter under my breath, then get an elbow in the ribs for it. 

“Do you guys send pictures back and forth?” Max asks. 

She shifts uncomfortably in her chair, looking at me self-consciously. I can tell the answer is one she doesn’t want me to hear, but my stubborn nature won’t let me leave the room. 

“Um, yeah,” she says. “Kind of. Mostly, I send them.” 

“If you don’t mind me asking, what kind of pictures?” Nev asks. “Are we talking private pictures?” 

She rubs her palms over her kneecaps. “Once,” she mutters. 

“Okay,” Max says. “And how much have you seen of William?” 

“I have the four pictures from his Tinder profile,” she says. 

“Yeah, and that’s all,” I snap. 

“His camera doesn’t work,” she snaps back. “And he doesn’t have social media. So, what do you expect? Of course he doesn’t have many photos of himself.” 

There’s a pause between us and the guys on the other end. 

“Okay,” Nev says, breaking it. “Well, why don’t we get on a plane and head to meet you guys? Seems like we have a case on our hands, and we’d love to come see what we can do.” 

April smiles without showing teeth, and I nod. 

“Thanks for helping us,” I say. 

“Alright,” Max says. “See you guys soon.” 

When the call ends, April blusters up from the chair and storms out of my bedroom, shaking her head as she goes. 

“What’s up with you?” I call. 

“You!” she calls back, already at the end of the hall. 

“Me?” I ask. “What did I do?” 

“You emailed them,” she says, gathering her things as I follow her. 

“You agreed to it,” I say. 

“I didn’t think I was gonna get the third degree over Skype,” she says. 

“You’ve seen the show,” I say. “You know what happens. They do that to everyone.” 

“Except William isn’t a catfish,” she says. “And you’re gonna see that, too. Then, you can stop being so self-righteous.” 

“Alright,” I say. “I’ll be happy to be proven wrong.” 

“Stop sounding so smug,” she says, shoving her feet into her shoes. “I’ll be back tomorrow when they come over. I need space… away from you.” 

I sigh loudly as I watch her leave from the doorframe. “Alright,” I say. “Bye, then, I guess.” 

…

“I don’t even remember agreeing to all this,” April grumbles, coming through the front door the next day. 

I look over from the kitchen table, where I’m eating a bowl of cereal. “You did,” I say. 

“You probably drugged me.” 

“Oh, shut up,” I say. “Come sit.” 

“Why? So you can peek over my shoulder while I text William and tell me how fake he is?” she chides. 

I roll my eyes. “No,” I say. “I don’t give a fuck about him.” 

“Then why are you so hung up on proving me wrong?” she asks. 

“Because I give a fuck about you,” I say. “I don’t wanna see you get hurt.” 

“He’s never hurt me before,” she says. 

“Oh, it doesn’t hurt when he makes up shit excuse after shit excuse not to see you, even though he lives closer than Mark and Lexie do?” 

She has no response for that. 

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s what I thought. Just come sit down.” 

She sighs and walks over, plopping into a chair next to me with her cheek in her palm. “You need to shave,” she says, reaching to touch my face with the pads of her fingers. 

My skin tingles with her touch. “Didn’t get a chance yet today,” I say. 

“You’re gonna be on camera,” she says. “So, you better do it before they get here.” 

“Yes, mom,” I say, playfully. She slaps my upper arm and rolls her eyes. 

When Nev and Max get to my house, I’m freshly shaven and dressed nicely in something other than the pajamas I had on. April is cordial and tense, shaking their hands with a painted-on smile. 

“Hey, man,” Nev says, and shakes my hand before clapping me on the back. 

“Thanks for having us,” Max says. “Nice place.” 

“Thanks,” I say. “I haven’t lived here for that long.” 

“Almost a year, though, right?” April says. 

“Yeah, almost.” 

“Are you over here a lot?” Max asks April, sitting with Nev on the couch across from the loveseat we’re sitting on. 

She shrugs. “Yeah, almost every day,” she says. “Might as well move in at this point.” 

I laugh and casually rest my arm along the back of the couch, enveloping April without meaning to. It’s a normal way for us to sit, but Nev’s eyes linger on my hand that’s barely touching her opposite shoulder. It makes me feel self-conscious, but I let it stay.

“So, April,” Max says, facing the handheld camera towards us while the crew circles around. “Tell us more about William.” 

I listen as she delves into the details I usually won’t listen to. I know I’m closed off when it comes to him, and she feels like she can’t talk about it, but that’s something I’m not necessarily complaining about. For some reason, I don’t like hearing about her mushy feelings for this guy. Mostly, because I think he’s screwing her over. 

“Have you ever sent him money?” Max asks. 

“No,” she says. 

“Yeah, but there was that one time where he asked…” I cut in. 

She shoots me a look. 

“He asked?” Nev says. 

She sighs, frustrated, and stares at her hands in her lap. “Yeah… he did,” she says. “He needed help paying his cell phone bill. He was freaking out because we weren’t going to be able to talk, you know, if he couldn’t pay it. He really didn’t want to ask me, he was really embarrassed.” 

“But he still did,” I say. 

“Well, yeah,” she says. “I just said he was desperate. But I don’t have any extra money, so I had to say no.” 

“And you guys obviously kept talking,” Nev says. 

She nods. 

“So, he paid that bill somehow,” Max says. 

She nods again, not meeting anyone’s eyes. 

“What’s the deal with him living in Tacoma and having not met you yet?” Max says. “That’s like what, not even 50 miles away?” 

“He has a really busy work schedule,” April says. 

“As a real estate agent,” Max fills in. 

She nods. “He does. He’s trying to move up in his company so he can get a raise. He’s really dedicated to his job.” 

“But weekends?” Nev says. “What about being able to see you on weekends?” 

“He has a lot of house showings then,” she says. “That’s when most people want to go and look, so he takes them around. It’s really hard for him to find the time.” 

“And you’ve been totally okay with that,” I mutter under my breath. 

She frowns at me, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Hey, man,” Nev says. “Lay off her a little. We’re not here to make you feel silly or gullible or stupid, April. We wanna help you. I’m hoping just as much as you are that this William guy is for real.” 

Max chuckles. “The hopeless romantic.” 

“It never hurt to have hope,” Nev says, leaning forward to look into April’s eyes. “Okay? We’re with you on this, and we’re gonna do what we can to figure this guy out.” 

“Okay,” she says, and wipes her eyes. There’s a pit in my stomach as I realize I’m probably the one who made her cry. 

Nev and Max gather their things, tell us they’re going to the hotel to do research, and walk out the door with the camera crew. I stand out on the front porch to get some air and give April a few minutes of space, when I overhear a conversation between the two co-hosts.

“I mean, if I didn’t know better I’d think those two were the ones dating,” Nev says quietly. 

“Who, April and Jackson?” Max asks. 

“Yeah,” Nev says. “They’re so close. It’s obvious that he’s jealous.” 

“Wait,” Max says. “You don’t think that he could be the one behind all this, do you?” 

“I don’t know,” Nev says. “It doesn’t seem like it. He seems like a cool guy. But we’ve been doing this show for years. We’ve seen crazier things.” 

I go back inside, troubled by what I’ve heard. I would never do something like that to April - that’d be sick and twisted, and it would hurt her beyond belief. We’d never be friends again. But… jealous? I’m not jealous. William ihe last person in the world who I’d be jealous of. There’s no reason to be jealous of a catfish - a person pretending to be someone they’re not because that’s the only way they can get attention. That’s just sad. It’s pathetic, and no reason to be jealous. 

I go back in the house to find April on the couch staring into space, one knee drawn to her chest. As I look at her clear face, wavy red hair, and pensive green eyes, I can’t help but speak before I think. 

“It’s not me, I hope you know,” I say, frozen where I stand. 

She looks at me, snapped out of her trance. “What?’ 

“William. He’s not me.” 

She screws up her face confusion. “What are you talking about?” 

I sigh. “I just heard the guys talking outside,” I say. “They were kind of theorizing like, what if it’s been me this whole time? And I wanna come out and tell you, it’s definitely not me.” 

“I never thought it was,” she says, wary. 

“I’d never hurt you like that,” I say, sitting down on the couch next to her. 

She rests her chin on her knee. “I know,” she says. 

“Sorry for being an ass earlier, in front of them,” I say. 

She picks a string on the sleeve of her sweater, shrugging. 

“Really,” I say. 

“It’s fine,” she says. “This is how you get. I’m used to it.” 

“How I get?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “What do you mean?” 

She chuckles. “Your temper comes out when you feel cornered or scared or nervous or whatever. Whenever you’re feeling a strong emotion, you lash out. Usually, at me.” 

“Whatever,” I say. “Not true.” 

We both know it is true, though. 

…

“Last night, I was thinking about you…” 

I raise my eyebrows, jarred by the sight in front of me. It’s April, dressed in only a bra and underwear - both black, both lacy. 

“...and it was… kinda dirty.” 

I widen my eyes, unable to believe she’s saying these things. I open my mouth to ask a question, but find myself with no voice. 

“And the way that you looked at me…” 

I swallow. Hard. 

“... it was kinda nasty.” 

I decide I don’t need to talk. 

She grabs for my hands, but as soon as she touches me, I jolt away. 

Fuck. Jesus Christ. I lie there, phone blasting ‘Sexxx Dreams’ by Lady Gaga beside me, the stupid ringtone my friend Mark programmed, and try to catch my breath. 

I’m sweating, my dick is as hard as a rock, and that isn’t the first sexual dream I’ve had about April. Not ever, and not this month. 

“Jackson!” I hear, then footsteps come down the hall. Suddenly, April throws my door open and appears in the opening, dressed in a dark green cardigan and jeans. “They’ll be here in a half hour. Get up!” 

“Jesus,” I say, then glance at the clock. It’s past 11, and I still have a blatant boner with April standing only feet away. And technically, she gave it to me. “Okay, I’m up. I just need to shower.” 

“I’m making lunch!” she calls, walking away from my room and into the kitchen. 

I awkwardly walk into the bathroom, hurriedly while trying to cover myself, and take care of my erection in the shower as silently as I can. After I come out, I don’t necessarily feel satisfied, but at least I won’t make a fool of myself on camera. 

“Hey guys,” Nev says, walking in the door with Max and the cameramen. 

“Hi,” April says, wiping her hands on her jeans as she makes her way into the room behind me. 

“Let’s sit down,” I suggest, gesturing towards the dining room table. 

We all sit around it, and Max pulls out a laptop. “Might as well get right down to business,” he says. “You ready to see the dirt we found on this guy?” 

I hear April sigh, breath rattling in her chest. “Yeah,” she says. “Maybe. I don’t know.” 

“You’re okay,” I say, and rest a comforting, grounding hand on her knee. She overlaps it with her own and squeezes. 

“So, we tried looking for this guy on Facebook,” Nev says. “William Johnson, first and last name. Came up with nothing.” 

April inhales deeply. “Well, yeah, he doesn’t have a Facebook,” she says. 

“We also called his place of employment, Windermere Real Estate,” Max adds. “No one by the name of William Johnson works there, or has ever worked there.” 

April frowns and leans forward, intrigued now. 

“We did a reverse search on his phone number,” Max follows up. “It came up listed under a Matthew Taylor. Are you familiar with that name?” 

She shakes her head, eyebrows furrowing with worry. “No,” she says. “I don’t know anybody by that name.” 

“Alright,” Nev says. “So, with that information, we did a reverse-image search on the pictures you gave us. And we got a hit.” 

April tenses as Max flips the laptop around to show us a Facebook profile under the name of Mason Vallance. 

“Mason…?” April peeps. “Who’s that?” 

“So, our best guess is that Mason is a real person. He has the right amount of friends, anything over 300 is good, and new pictures you haven’t seen.” He scrolls through. “See, it’s all the same guy. But you’ve only seen the four pictures that were on William’s profile.” 

“Right…” 

“So, you have someone…” 

“Most likely this ‘Matthew Taylor’ character,” Max inserts. 

“Using Mason’s pictures.” There’s a pause. “How will you feel if William isn’t the person he’s said he was? If he looks different than what he’s shown you?” 

“I…” April stammers, then looks at me desperately. I nod her along, letting her know I’m there for support. “I don’t know,” she says. “I’m not one to judge on looks. But if he’s been lying… I wouldn’t be judging looks. That’s his character. He told me he’d never lie to me, not about anything. He told me I could trust him.” Her voice breaks, grows higher. “I did trust him.” 

“Well, we don’t have any conclusions to jump to yet,” Nev says. “We did the research, but can’t technically prove anything. The only way we’ll prove all this is by meeting him in person.” 

I raise my eyebrows with interest and April freezes with fear. 

“I thought I’d give him a call,” Nev says. “April, are you cool with that?” 

“I… I mean, yeah,” she says, staring at the table. “That’s what I wanted. Yeah.” 

“Alright, let me get him on the phone,” Nev says, and stands up from the table. 

After Nev excuses himself outside, Max faces us again. “Is a relationship with William something you’re interested in?” he asks April. 

She thinks for a long time. “I thought so,” she says. “Now, I don’t know. All this is so crazy. I never thought he was lying. He always talked about how important honesty was to him. That was one of my favorite things, how high he held his set of values.” She sighs. “Now, I don’t know what to think. I feel like I’ve been talking to a stranger this whole time.” 

“We don’t know anything for sure yet,” Max says. “So, don’t get ahead of yourself.” 

April looks to me and we share a quiet moment of eye contact. I give her a small nod and she sighs, leaning to rest her head on my shoulder until Nev comes back in the house. 

“He agreed to meet us,” he says, sitting down again. “He was a little vague and standoffish, but I told him to text me an address and we can get there this afternoon, since it’s not far away.” 

“This afternoon?” April says, sounding scared. 

“Better to get it over with,” Nev says. “I didn’t want him changing his mind and flaking out on us. It was tough enough to get him to agree.” 

“What did he say?” she asks. 

Nev sighs. “Well, at first he was saying he didn’t want to meet you because he’s not ready. Then, it was because he’s busy and has a lot of things going on. Like, work and stuff he said. Then, I called him out on not being employed by Windermere Real Estate, and I think that’s what brought him back to earth.” 

“So, he actually does want to meet me?” 

“He does,” Nev says. 

A smile blooms on her face, one that surprises me. I hadn’t expected her to be happy. 

“How are you feeling?” Max asks her. 

“Happy,” she says. “I’m excited to see him, I don’t know. I know it’s silly…” 

“It’s not silly,” Nev says. 

“We’ve been talking for a year,” she says. “I can’t believe it’s finally happening. This is crazy. I know that it’s not gonna be perfect or anything, but it’s more of a relief than anything. We can put everything out there, I guess is what I’m trying to say.” 

My gut twists and I feel like I might throw up. 

“Am I allowed to be excited?” she asks, eyes all lit up. “I feel like I’m about to meet the love of my life.” She laughs at herself and shakes her head, and her hair falls in her face. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop. I just never thought this would happen. I’m gonna meet William.” 

“Yeah, except his name probably isn’t William,” I snap, eyes on the table and hands balled together. I look up and April is watching me with a guarded expression. “His name is fuckin’ Matthew. Take your rose-colored glasses off, April. This guy isn’t who you think he is. He’s been lying to you for a year, and you’re deliberately choosing not to see it. He lives in Tacoma and hasn’t agreed to see you ‘til now. That doesn’t raise any red flags? No? None at all? The fucker won’t even video-chat. Come on, April. You’re smarter than this.” 

Her eyes glisten with tears as they well up and spill over. “Wow,” she says, wiping them away as she tries to compose herself. “Tell me how you really feel, Jackson.” 

“I…” I stammer, but April covers her face and stands up from the table to hurry off to the bathroom before I can try and redeem myself. 

“Why don’t you and I go talk somewhere?” Nev asks me, and stands up. 

For some reason, I follow. Even though I’m getting tired of their presence around here, I go with him outside to stand on the porch in the crisp air. 

“What’s going on?” he says. “What happened back there?” 

I frown, feeling my forehead crease. I cross my arms, lean against a pillar and let out a long sigh, squinting against the white sky. 

“Nothing,” I say. 

“Yeah,” he says, obviously seeing right through me. “You don’t seem like the type to bite April’s head off on the regular. What’s on your mind?” 

“I’m not William,” I say. “Or Matthew, or whatever. I swear on my life.” 

“Ah,” Nev says. “So, you heard us the other day?” 

I nod, chewing on the inside of my lip. “Yeah,” I say, then pause for a long time. “I don’t wanna see her get hurt.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“By this guy,” I say. “Whatever his name is. He’s gonna hurt her. He already has, with all his excuses and shit. She’s trusting, you know? She’s the kindest, most caring, giving and generous person in the world. She’d give you the shirt off her back if you needed it. And he’s taking advantage of her. I can’t stand…” I close my eyes and make a sound of frustration. “I can’t stand to see her go and meet him and get her heart broken. Because I’m gonna have to put her back together. Not like I mind, because I love her. She’s my best friend. But I just don’t want it to have to happen. I don’t think it’s a good idea that she goes to meet him.” 

“Well, I don’t think there’s any changing that now,” Nev says. “She has her heart set on it. And I thought you were the one who wanted this to go through? So she could finally know the truth about this guy?” 

“I did,” I mutter. 

“What changed?” 

“Nothing,” I say. “I don’t know.” 

He gives me a long look and doesn’t stop staring. Even as I let my eyes drift around the front yard, I still feel his gaze boring into me. 

“What?” I say. 

“You and April have been best friends since you were in diapers,” Nev says. “It’s normal to feel protective of her.” 

“I know that,” I say. 

“Do you feel like you’re going to lose her to this guy, if it does end up working out?” he asks. 

“It won’t work out,” I say. “He’s a fake. She’ll take one look at him and get shattered into a million pieces. That’s why I don’t want it to happen at all.” 

“But it’s going to happen,” Nev says. “You gotta accept that, buddy. She’s gonna go meet him. No matter how it turns out, it’s gonna happen.” 

I shake my head. 

“Is there more to the reason you don’t want her going?” he asks. 

“No,” I say. “I just don’t want her to be a wreck.” 

“Hmm,” he says. 

“What?” 

He shakes his head. “You two are very close,” he says. 

I shoot him a fiery look. “Look, dude. What are you trying to get out of me? That I have feelings for her? I already know what you think. So, okay, yeah, sure. I do. I feel more stuff for her than just a friendship, but she’s hung up on this asshole. Nothing’s ever gonna come of it, so I just ignore it. Simple as that. We don’t need to have a counseling session over it.” 

Something changes, grows softer, in his eyes. “You don’t have to be ashamed,” he says.

“I’m not,” I say. “It’s just not something I broadcast. She doesn’t feel the same way, so I’m not gonna shove my feelings onto her. That’s fucked up. Just… it’s whatever. Go take her to meet this douche, and she can see for herself that I’m right.” 

“Being angry with her isn’t going to help-” 

“I’m not mad at her,” I say. “And also, I’m done with all this. I’m leaving. Tell April I said good luck.” 

As I sit in my bedroom and stew after they leave my house, I can’t stop thinking about what must be happening a handful of miles away. I wonder what this guy looks like - if he’s a gamer who still lives in his mom’s basement, or maybe a married man with a family and a wife he’s been lying to. I convince myself I don’t want to know, but I really do. 

The sun has gone down and it’s past dinner when I hear a soft knock on the front door. In pajamas, I get out of bed and turn on the hall light, then the one on the porch to see April standing there with her arms wrapped around her torso and mascara streaks running down her face. 

I open the door and welcome her inside right away. “Hey…” I say gently, all the animosity from earlier having faded away due to seeing her face. “Come in, what’s going on? Are you okay?” 

She sniffles and nods, then takes her coat off. After it’s slung over the back of an armchair, she locks eyes with me and folds herself into my arms while sobbing. 

“You’re alright…” I say, rubbing her back and stroking her hair. “You’re okay. What happened?” 

She shakes her head and continues to cry. “You were right,” she wails, then her body stiffens as she pulls away. When we meet eyes again, hers are burning with rage. “Are you happy? You were right. He was this middle-aged guy living out in the middle of nowhere. A total creep. Are you happy?” 

“I… no,” I say. “I’m not happy about that, no.” 

“You wanted it to go wrong,” she says, voice clogged with tears and snot. “And it did. He was lying to me the whole time. He saw a side of me that…” Her shoulders tremble and she covers her face with her hands. “The guys deleted the pictures. But he had them saved. He saw my body like that. And I let him, I sent it!” She shakes her head and makes her hair fly. “I feel so stupid.” 

“Stop,” I say. “You’re not stupid.” 

“He was old,” she says. “He even suggested wanting to start a relationship now that everything is out in the open.” 

I bristle. “I hope you told him to fuck off.” 

“Max did.” 

“Good,” I say. 

“You must think I’m an idiot,” she mutters. “I’m never going online again. Stupid. I’m so stupid.” She wipes her nose with the back of her hand and we move to sit on the couch. 

“I don’t think that,” I say. “This is that fucker’s fault, not yours. You’re… you’re you, April. You’re trusting and kind. Why would you have any reason to suspect he was lying?”

“Because of all the reasons you threw in my face earlier,” she says. “You were right. And I didn’t listen.” 

“I was wrong for doing that,” I say. “For getting so mad. I’m sorry.” 

She shrugs. “Yeah, I know.” 

We sit in silence for a long time until she speaks, wiping her nose again and clearing her throat. 

“You’re the only one who’s ever really cared about me,” she says. “The only guy, I mean.” She lifts her chin and looks into my eyes. “I don’t wanna be around anyone but you.” 

She leans against my shoulder and I sit there, stunned by what she said. I don’t know what she means exactly, or in what context, but it feels wrong to ask. I don’t want to ruin the moment. So, I wrap an arm around her shoulders and kiss the top of her head, hoping to comfort her in some way. That’s the best I can do. 

“Why did this happen to me?” she peeps, voice smaller than I’ve ever heard it.

There’s something growing in my chest, warm and confident, that might burst through any second. I clear my throat, open my mouth to say something, but only a small sound comes out. 

“What?” she prompts. 

I try again, centering myself with my arm still around her. “Well,” I say. “I don’t know. I don’t really believe in this stuff, but maybe it was supposed to happen.” 

She pulls away so she can look at me with confusion written all over her face. 

“Maybe this had to happen to bring two other people together,” I say, losing a bit of confidence as her eyes smolder into mine. 

“What do you mean?” she asks, still confused. 

I sigh, giving up with the crypticness. “I really like you, April,” I say. “Like, more than a friend. More than a best friend.” 

-2 MONTHS LATER-

The outgoing Skype ringtone rings throughout the conference room as Nev and Max call April for her two-month check-in. When she picks answers, she’s smiling and waving, hair as red as ever. 

“Hey!” Nev and Max say at once. “How’s it going?” 

“Good,” she says, still grinning. 

“You look great,” Nev says.

“Your hair is long!” Max chimes in. 

“Oh,” she says, picking up the ends and looking, too. “It’s grown.” 

“So, what’s new with you?” Nev asks. “Heard anything from Matthew?” 

She shakes her head. “Nope,” she says. “Well, he tried texting soon after we met, but I blocked him. I just have no interest in that anymore.” 

The co-hosts both nod. “Any luck on the love life at all? On the novel?” Max asks. 

“The novel is going good…” she says. “It’s slow, but good. And my love life, well, there’s been a development there, too.” 

“Oh?” 

She waves an arm and Jackson appears on the screen, matching her smile. 

“Surprising no one,” Max says, and everyone laughs. 

“When did this happen?” Nev asks. 

“Right after the fact,” she says, and takes Jackson’s arm before kissing him on the cheek. He looks absolutely smitten with her, even more than before. “I realized that he was right in front of me all along. He was too close to see clearly, you know? He’s been with me through everything.” 

“So, you guys are in love?” Nev asks. 

Jackson nods. “Very much so,” he says. 

“Well, that’s awesome,” Nev says. “Show the camera a kiss before we have to hang up.” 

The couple looks at each other and smiles, then kisses quickly before breaking apart and laughing. 

“We love a happy ending,” Max says. “Alright guys, good luck on everything and we’ll talk to you soon.” 

“Bye!” 

As the screen turns black before the credits, text shows on the screen. 

APRIL HAS SINCE DELETED HER TINDER ACCOUNT AND SAYS SHE HAS NO REASON FOR ONLINE DATING ANYMORE. SHE SAYS THAT HER ROMANCE WITH MATTHEW TAUGHT HER AN IMPORTANT LESSON ABOUT WHO TO TRUST. 

SHE AND JACKSON ARE STILL HAPPILY DATING TO THIS DAY.


	5. Found by Imayhaveapoint

The silence is deafening. 

Then comes the pain. 

I open my eyes and try to orient myself to my surroundings, but the searing rays of the sun make it hard to focus on anything. Blurs of color slowly begin to take shape into recognizable objects and, slowly, the silence is broken by muffled screams as my senses fight to return.

I stretch out my fingers working up the courage to fully sit up and find gritty dirt beneath them. Trees. I’m surrounded by trees. I smell them now. I’m on the ground, in the woods, but I cannot remember getting here. I squeeze my eyes tight and shake my head back and forth a few times, willing my brain to focus. I need to think. I need to figure this out. 

I open my eyes and sigh with relief as I can clearly see the branches above me now. This tiny accomplishment brings a smile to my face that only lasts briefly. Just as my vision returned, so has my hearing, and now I realize the muffled screams from earlier are much closer than I thought and coming from all around me. 

Pain radiates through my body as I push myself up, first to my elbows, and then finally to fully sitting. I was right about being in the woods. As far as I can see, there are only trees. What I didn’t expect are the people, running, crying, bleeding. 

My instinct to heal kicks in, and I begin to assess the people closest to me. I should get to the most badly injured first. A few feet to my left is an older man. His femur is snapped, and the bone is protruding through the pants of his black suit. I don’t know how long he has been laying there, but the blood loss is clearly great. I audibly moan as I stretch out to reach his wrist. No pulse. I can’t help him. I brush the dirt off my hands and look for someone else who needs me among the debris and bodies. 

And then I see her. Her body is limp, and she is laying on her right side, facing me with her red curls falling across her face. My heart sinks and I remember. I remember the events that led to us being here, and all I know is I have to get to her. Because she is all the matters.

Two Hours Earlier

“4B, 4B, 4B…” I whisper to myself as I squeeze down the aisle to find my seat. Today was the last day of a week-long medical conference in Sydney, and as much I loved getting to see Australia, I am more than ready to get home. I’m taking an overnight direct flight from Sydney to L.A., and I am hoping I can get the window seat and sleep for the majority of the flight. 

I stop when I see my seat number and look down to find the window seat already occupied by a woman with red hair. Her attention is fixed out the window, so I quickly shove my carry-on bag into the overhead bin and tell myself to man up and just ask her to switch seats with me. 

“Excuse me,” I begin, clearing my throat. 

She turns and looks up at me with a sweet smile. Her eyes shine with kindness. “Yes?”

I lose my train of thought for a moment and the seat loses its importance. I don’t even know her name, but I suddenly feel like the luckiest man in the world for getting this seat on this flight. 

“Uh, I’m Jackson,” I say, extending my hand. “I just thought I should introduce myself if we are going to be sitting together on a flight halfway around the world.”

Her timid smile grows, and she takes my hand in hers, “You’re right. I’m April. It’s nice to meet you, Jackson.” 

When our hands touch, a feeling of warmth comes over me, and I keep her hand in mine a bit longer than usual, eyes fixed on hers. I’m not sure how long our moment lasts, but I am abruptly jolted out of it when a man in a black business suit bumps against me.

“Why don’t you sit down so other people can get by?” he growls in my direction as he pushes past me to find his own seat two rows behind mine. 

“Sorry,” I mumble, feeling my cheeks flush a bit. For a second, I had forgotten I was even on a plane. 

I take my seat and root around for the seatbelt, giving my face time to return to a normal color and my brain time to come up with something to say to keep the conversation with April going. 

“Australia or America?” I blurt out.

“I’m sorry?” she squints back at me, clearly not understanding the question.

“Your home,” I clarify, “This flight is from Sydney to L.A., so I was wondering which one was your home.”

“Oh!” she laughs, “America. I mean, I’m from America. I was just in Sydney on vacation. How about you? Australia or America?”

“I’m American. I went to Sydney for a medical conference.”

Her interest is piqued now, and she turns her body, as much as possible in the tiny airplane chair, to face mine. “Medical conference? Are you a doctor?”

“I am,” I smile, happy to have impressed her. “I’m a spinal surgeon at St. Sebastian Hospital in Los Angeles.”

“Wow. That’s incredible,” she shakes her head a bit in awe and a hint of sadness flashes across her eyes. She turns her attention back to the window just as the flight attendants finish their in-flight instructions and the pilots pick up speed to begin our ascent up into the air. 

We sit without speaking for a few minutes while the plane finds its altitude. I’m not sure what has upset her, and I don’t want to push, but I also want to keep talking to her.

“Are you okay? You got pretty quiet all of a sudden,” I say, reaching out to lightly touch her wrist, hoping to gain her attention back.

She looks briefly down to her lap and then back up to me, and the tears that have pooled in her eyes are all I see. “Did I upset you? Did I say something wrong?” I replay our brief interaction in my mind, but I can’t figure out what I might have done to cause this reaction.

“No!” she insists, “Not at all! I’m being ridiculous. I was just thinking how amazing it must be to get to save lives every day. I used to want to be a doctor.”

She looks down again, fidgeting with a ring on her right hand. Without thinking, I reach out and run my fingers through her hair, pushing it behind her shoulder. I want to see her face. 

“Used to?” I question. “There is still time, you know.”

“Maybe for you,” she mumbles.

“And what is so different for you?” I whisper. “What is stopping you?”

She pauses before answering, “It’s not “what,” it’s “who.” I lied to you, Jackson. I wasn’t in Australia on vacation. I was running. I’ve been running most of my life, and I can’t stop now.”

Present Time

I crawl. I push through the debris, past the mangled bodies, and drag my aching limbs across the floor of this wilderness to get to her. Every movement requires all of my energy, and my body begs me to stop by sending piercing pain each time my hands and knees connect to the ground. But I push on.

I keep my eyes on her lifeless body, watching the rise and fall of her chest, willing it to keep going. 

When I am finally close enough, I close my hand over hers, sighing in relief at the feeling of warmth. It’s a different warmth than when I touched her hand just hours before, but one that I am just as happy to feel. 

Again, I brush her hair behind her shoulder, exposing her face, and her name falls from my lips in almost a plea, “April?”

No response. 

I shake her shoulder, gently, not wanting to injure her more. “April? April! Come on, wake up.”

Nothing. 

I need something. A light of some kind to check her pupils. I scan the debris near me. Surely someone on this plane had a flashlight or cell phone that wasn’t destroyed. I spot one, several feet away, and prepare myself for the painful trek to retrieve it. I sigh and turn in the direction I need to go.

But her sudden, sharp gasp keeps me where I am. 

She rolls on to her back, coughing and gasping, seeming a bit frantic. I slide my hand under her head, lifting her up to lay in my lap, and hopefully making it easier for her to catch her breath. I smile down at her, happy to see her eyes open and prepare to tell her how relieved I am that she is okay. 

However, before I can speak, she reaches up and takes my face in her hands, and the words she speaks instantly fade my relief.

“He’s here,” she whispers. “I saw him. He found me, and he’s here.”


	6. I Put a Spell on You by Cendella

Jackson stuffed his cell back into his pocket and exited his vehicle. Checking his surroundings, he made sure he had his trusty 9mm pistol by his side before he headed into the diner. 

He’d just gotten off the phone with Sam Winchester, a fellow hunter, acquaintance and brother of Dean Winchester. Probably the most famous of hunters, the duo had contacted him regarding a case involving Vetala’s. Currently, on the other side of the country, they weren’t available to follow up on it, so they reached out to a few hunters who they knew near Seattle and he popped up on their radar. This wasn’t his usual stomping grounds and the only reason he’d been so far on the west coast was because he’d been tailing a pack of werewolves that he’d managed to track down and kill one by one over the course of a month. 

Frankly, Jackson was surprised they’d even bother to take on as many cases as they did. The Winchesters were infamous for attracting trouble; more than the average hunter, not to mention either triggering or preventing the end of the world. He’ll admit, he didn’t think highly of them in the beginning, but Bobby had needed the three of them on a hunt involving a band of ghosts who’d haunting a high school in Missouri. Jackson had been impressed with the brothers and learned a bit more about their history. Since then, they’d become constant contacts, sharing intel and possible cases, even more since Bobby had been killed. 

Today, he was meeting another hunter by the name of Kepner. She’d been recommended by Sam as someone who’d be worthy of helping him with his monster problem. Dean had put the word out several years ago that Vetala’s thought to be loners, preyed on their victims in pairs. Knowing that he couldn’t tackle the job alone, he asked them for the name of a hunter who’d be skilful enough to hang with him. 

Jackson didn’t know much about this Kepner person and all Sam had said was that she was a veteran in the game and typically stuck to the eastern seaboard, but had made a locale change recently. She was supposedly exceedingly intelligent, well versed in the lore and quite the huntress. He’d asked Sam for a description of her so that he’d be able to spot her right away, but Dean snatched the phone out of his hand said you’ll know her when you see her, called him pretty boy then hung up the phone. Dean often teased him about being a hunter who also happened to look like a male model. Like he had room to talk. 

Walking into the eatery, he peered around the establishment, getting a bead on the occupants. It was second nature for him to scope the place out before he deemed it safe to enter. Looking around, he saw several couples, a few groups stuffed into tables that didn’t appear large enough to accommodate them entirely, and three female diners who were eating unaccompanied. 

The first one was an older woman, most likely in her early sixties and he doubted that she the person he was supposed to be meeting. The second had her back to the door. She was a redhead and petite, dressed in a pink blouse, black jeans and Keds on her feet. He moved past her thinking his contact would look a bit tougher, so he fixated on the third. She was tall, close to six feet, with a medium build and an expression that said she didn’t take any shit. 

Approaching the beefy brunette, he stuck his hand out in greeting, “Kepner?” 

She scowled at him from her menu, a scowl on her face, “What?”

“Are you Kepner?” he asked again.

As the woman opened her mouth to respond, he heard a high-pitched voice address him from over his shoulder. 

“Avery, over here.”

He turned around and was immediately taken aback at the sight before him. This was not what he had been expecting. 

Jackson prided himself on noticing people. Taking in every minute detail of their appearances to aid in assessing their character. That he’d naturally assumed the brunette had been his colleague when he’d instantly dismissed the unassuming woman who now stood to meet him had thrown his system into an array. She certainly didn’t look like a hunter, but he also knew that looks could be deceiving. 

The fair skinned, fiery-haired beauty was about five-five, thin, but curvy with jade green eyes that peered into his soul. 

“Hi, nice to meet you,” she said as she held out her hand. 

Jackson stood there with his mouth agape, momentarily stunned by the beauty before him. She stared at him, one eyebrow raised in confusion. It took him a few seconds to snap out of his bewildered state before he returned the gesture. 

“Yeah, sorry. I’m Avery,” he said, offering her his most charming smile in an effort to reassure her that he was not some weirdo.

“Sit?” she said, pointing toward the booth. 

Jackson climbed into the seat across from her and picked up a menu. She’d been in the middle of eating a burger and fries which staggered him because looking at her, he’d naturally assumed she was a salad’s only kind of chick. 

Perusing the choices, he motioned for the waitress and ordered a burger and fries, same as hers with a side of coleslaw. 

“So, Kepner, how’s it going?” he asked.

“Please, call me April. Kepner is so formal and we’ll be killing monsters together, so we might as well be on a first name basis,” she said and presented him with a smile so brilliant, he’d almost expected to hear a tinging sound. 

“Okay then, April, you can call me Jackson. So, Sam tells me you have all the information we need regarding these Vetala’s?” 

“Yeah,” she began, pulling a laptop from her bag, “he forwarded me all the data they had and with the supplemental material I’d reached, I was able to get a complete picture of what we have in store for us. The two culprits have been trolling targets for several months in the area. So far, I’ve estimated there had been no less than four victims. No one knows where they originated, but these are the first crimes we’ve seen of this variety in these parts. Their last kill was over a week ago, but according to their pattern, we can expect to see a new victim within the next few days. I’ve been able to triangulate their location to this area,” she said, indicating a series of red marks on a map she’d opened up in front of him, “and our best bet for attacking them is in the morning as they feed and before they leave their lair because they typically stalk for their objects to consume at night.” 

Jackson was impressed. Not only was she gorgeous, but she had done her research. He wasn’t the type of guy who generally based his lasting opinion of someone on their initial encounter, but April was a pleasant surprise. 

“You’ve really got a handle on this don’t you?” he inquired.  
Her tongue pushed against the inside of her cheek, she chuckled, “Let me guess. As soon as you saw me, you imagined I wouldn’t be this professional, probably not as prepared as you thought but ready nonetheless.”

“I hope you’re not offended and I’m not trying to diminish your talents, but you look like the type of woman who’d be more at home managing a business because you’re obviously smart as hell. I picture you as a lawyer or a doctor maybe. You know picket fence, a husband and three kids,” he said, hoping she didn’t take his assessment as an insult. 

“No, it’s okay, you’re not the first person to question my abilities,” she replied, stuffing the map back in her bag, “and if you’d prefer to work with someone else, I understand.”  
Jackson reached out and grasped her wrist, “Wait, no. That’s not what I meant. I’d be honored to work with you. You seem invested and I assure you I was not trying to offend you. I find you interesting and I’m guilty of creating this scenario in my head about the life you’d have if you weren’t doing this.” 

“Well, we all have our own story,” she said hauntingly. 

He waited for her to say more, but conceded when she bit into her burger, eating with gusto. Wanting to alleviate the awkwardness, he went back to the case. 

“So, you were saying we should hit them in the morning. What’s the method to destroy them?” he queried. 

“Yeah, I think mornings best. We should take them by surprise and the longer we’re in town, the greater chance they get wind of us and once they take off, odds of locating them again might be difficult. As far as killing them, a silver knife to the heart will do nicely,” 

He nodded his head in agreement, “Sounds like a plan.” 

They focused on finishing their meals and when the check came, he grabbed it from the tray. 

“What are you doing?” she asked. 

“I’m paying the check,” he said 

“I’m perfectly capable of paying for my own food,” she said incensed. 

Jackson reached in his wallet and plunked down a twenty, “I know, I’m just being polite. Besides, you’re the one who did all the legwork, least I can do is shell out for the meal.”  
Though she tried to appear angered by his deed, the growing smile on her face and creeping blush gave her away. 

“Fine,” she said, but once we’re down kicking their asses, our celebratory meal is on me.”

“Deal,” he said, giving her a beaming smile in return. They headed out to their cars and Jackson trailed her to hers. 

“Where are you staying tonight?” he asked, curious. 

“I’m over at the Tellford motel in Redmon. I’ve stayed there before. It’s not too sleazy and it’s safe. You?” she inquired. 

He hesitated, not sure if he should lie to her or not. Choosing to be honest, he confessed, 

“I’m at the Four Seasons.” The change in her appearance didn’t escape his vision. 

Jackson didn’t like to reveal too much about himself to his associates. Not that he didn’t’ trust them to keep his business private, he just didn’t like people to presume they knew things about him. He wasn’t some playboy who was doing this to kicks. This was a calling and right now, he couldn’t hope to do anything else. 

Jackson was a wealthy man and had a net worth of about 150 million dollars. Now, anyone with common sense would think him crazy for choosing to run around across the country, chasing down ghosts, vampires and demons. They’d assume he should be sitting poolside with a drink in his hand, ogling exotic beauties on the beaches of Maldives, but he had a reason for why he did what he did and nothing, not even money would deter him from his goals. No, he wasn’t the Winchesters and didn’t plan on doing this for the rest of his life. He wanted to settle done eventually, have a family. But for right now, this is what he needed to do. He knew it was rare for a hunter to leave once they’d been indoctrinated in the life, but then again, there were some who’d been able to balance having a personal life with honoring the duties of hunting. 

He waited for her to make a joke or comment pertaining to his affluence, but was pleased with her response, or rather, lack thereof.

“I think we should meet about 6 am, down by the docks,” she said. No hint of sarcasm at all in her tone. 

“Sounds good,” he replied in anything clever to say. 

He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to let her go but knew it would be creepy if he tried to invite her back to his hotel room. He hadn’t expected anything to happen between them, he only wanted to talk. He had friends, but not many he could talk to about the hunter lifestyle. Bobby was gone, Garth was in the wind, Sam and Dean were guarded and stuck together like glue. Apart from Castiel, and Jody, not many were included in their inner circle. 

He watched her until she pulled off and left for his own hotel. 

Jackson entered his room, turned the t.v. to ESPN and jumped into a hot shower. He didn’t plan on going anywhere else tonight so crawled right into bed, pulled the blanket up to his chin and fell asleep somewhere between the Wizards game and Sports Center.  
The next morning, he woke up earlier then he needed too so he’d be ready to meet April. He put on his Carhart with the extra pockets, not sure how much firepower he’d need and his sterling silver dagger. Double checking his cell before he left out, he put the do not disturb sign on the door and headed out. 

As expected, April was already there. He didn’t know anything concrete about her, just assumptions, but he got the feeling that she was the type of person who was always prompt and didn’t suffer fools. 

“Morning,” he said as he handed her a cup of coffee. He’d stopped at the local Top Pot Doughnuts before the fifteen-minute ride out here. 

She greedily grabbed at the container and took a sip, “Um, thank you. You don’t know how much I needed this.” 

“How’d you sleep last night,” he asked, not sure why. It wasn’t like he was overly concerned if she’d gotten rest or not. He just needed something to say to her. 

“Fine. The occupants in the next room kept it down to a dull roar,” she said with a guffaw.  
“Alright,” she began as she pulled her out the same map from last night and spread it across the hood of his car, “this building right here is where I believe their stomping grounds are. As you know, they hunt in pairs but don’t necessary subsist in that manner. They may be inside together, or we might just catch one.”

Jackson adjusted his gun belt, “Well, whatever we do, I don’t think we should split up once we’re inside.”

“I don’t think that’d be a smart idea either,” she concurred. 

Folding the map and stuffing it in her cargo pant side pocket, she went to her car, pulled out a gun that he thought was almost bigger than she was and waved him on to follow her. 

Jackson wasn’t used to people ordering him around, but in her case, he thought it wasn’t a problem if he bent the rules. 

They’d been exploring the interior for over an hour. Checking larger spaces, corridors, offices, even restrooms and loading docks. 

“You think your intel was wrong,” he asked. 

She shook her head in dispute “No, all signs point to this being the right spot. If we don’t find anything in the next thirty minutes, we’ll call it and reformulate our strategy.”  
Half an hour later, they were about to give up when they heard a faint wailing from about thirty feet away. Signaling for her to take the rear, he crept down the dark hallway until he came upon a partially closed door. 

Jackson whispered over his shoulder, “I see one of them with their prey. Not sure where the other one is, but something tells me, she’s close.”

“Why don’t you take the lead and I’ll lay back. Maybe we can set a trap,” she suggested.  
Giving her the thumbs up to indicate he approved, he stepped forward and slowly opened the door hoping that it didn’t creak and give away his position. His weapon trained out in front of him, he watched at the blond female grab hold of the man’s throat and lean over him. 

“I believe it’s time for me to have my breakfast,” she declared. 

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna be happening,” he interrupted loudly.  
She whipped her head around, hand still clutching her victim's throat, vertical pupils ablaze. 

“Let me guess, a hunter,” she said, releasing the man’s neck and faced him full on, “and I suppose you’re here to kill me.”

He shrugged his shoulder nonchalantly, “Something like that. How about you let the guy go and you and I can have a little chat.”

She gave him a seductive glare, “I’m sorry but I don’t think so. What is going to happen is that you are going to let me have my feast and I promise, I’ll be as gentle as I can before I make you my next meal.” 

“Eh, I don’t think so bitch. I’ll be leaving, along with your breakfast and you’ll be off to Purgatory, where all your kind go after I kill you,” he said a smirk on his lips. 

She sucked her teeth at him, “That would work except for one little thing.”

“Hmm, and what’s that?” he asked.

An evil grin spread across her face, “I’m not here alone.”

Suddenly, Jackson felt a set of arms wrap around his neck and apply pressure. 

The other female spoke closely in his ear, “Mmm, I see you’ve found us another snack and this one looks absolutely delicious.”

“Well actually, he came to me. Like special delivery,” she cackled maniacally. 

Coughing, trying to take in some air, he tried to speak, “Except… I think… there’s a flaw… with your proposal.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?” the one facing him said. 

Without warning, April appeared and stabbed the second Vetala through the back in line with where her heart lay, “He didn’t come alone either,” she exclaimed. 

He felt the arms slip away and the blond one let out a howling screech and just as she charged, he raised his arm and fired six shots. The bullets only fazed her and when she rushed toward him again, he drew his knife from its sheath and jammed it into her heart and as her partner had, she decomposed instantaneously. 

“Right in the nick of time,” he said to April, wiping the blood off on his coat. 

“I wouldn’t have left you hanging,” she said and patted him on the back

They untied the victim; Melvin Haggard and helped him to his feet. He’d been drained for days so his weak from partial dehydration and delirious. April went to her car to obtain a first aid kit and they cleaned him up best they could. She had also been thinking ahead and brought along a pint of O negative blood to transfuse what he had lost. Though it was no longer considered a universal blood type for donation, it would do in a pinch. 

They explained to Melvin exactly what had happened to him and what those creatures were. Normally, they had a tough time trying to get the public to believe them about all the evil and crazy things that existed, but Melvin barely took any convincing at all. They explained to him that it would be in his best interest to keep the details of this incident to himself. Don’t call the police or go to the hospital. It’d be harder trying to explain his injuries and hospital staff may alert the authorities of his condition. They told him they’d drop him off at the place he’d been abducted and suggested he come up with a cover story for his disappearance. April could tell he was still shaken and took him back to her car while Jackson disposed of the bodies. 

By the time he returned to his own car and assured her he’d cleaned up any trace of them having been there, it was about twelve o’clock and he didn’t know about April, but he was starving. 

“Hey, since we’re all done here, why don’t we go grab something to eat?” he recommended. 

She didn’t even give it a second thought before taking him up on his offer, “Sure, I could definitely eat. Where do you want to go? I could suggest something. I’m familiar with the area.”

“I was thinking we could go back to my hotel. They have an awesome menu and after this morning we deserve a treat,” he proposed. 

Her mouth twisted, she glared him, “Look, I don’t know what kind of girl you think I am, but I’m not gonna sleep with you. We just met.”

“What? No, no, no! That was not my intention. I swear,” he said holding his hand up in the recognizable Boy Scout salute. 

She bit the inside of her cheek and considered him momentarily, “Alright, you seem harmless enough. Besides, I could kick your butt if I needed to.”

Jackson laughed at her confidence, “I have no doubt in my mind that you could. You’re kind of bad ass. A dynamo wrapped inside of a small package,” he said jokingly. 

She grimaced and pushed him playfully. 

“Say, do you have a change of clothes with you?” he asked taking note of both his and her filthy attire. 

“Yeah, why?” she questioned. 

“Well, I was going to suggest that while I ordered the food, you can get cleaned up. 

There’s a sweet steam shower in my room and I promise you, it’s like heaven,” he guaranteed. 

“So, not only do you invite me to your room for lunch but now you want me to shower there too,” she asked, blinking rapidly. 

“Yeah,” he confirmed as if asking her to use his shower were the most innocent thing in the world, “I promise, I have no ulterior motives.” 

She pointed at him and waggled her finger, “Nothing fishy?”

“Nothing fishy,” he assured her. 

“Okay, let’s go,” she said and walked off to her car and awaiting Melvin. 

She followed him back to his hotel and grabbed a backpack from her trunk when they arrived. Upon entering his room, he had her look over the menu and make her selections then offered her use of the bathroom first. He busied himself straitening the room and fifteen minutes later she pranced out, wrapped only in a towel, her damp hair stuck to her skin. 

Jackson gulped hard at the figure before him. He’d had an image in his head of what she looked like undressed but was thrilled with the reality. She had freckles that dotted her velvety pale skin, strong, toned arms and despite her height, legs that didn’t seem to quit.  
She lifted a second towel she had in her hand and rubbed it over her scalp, “Shower’s all yours.”

“Uh, thanks. Food should be here in another ten. I’ll be out in a flash,” he said and hurried out of the room, the beginnings of a hard-on approaching. 

While he was in the shower, he concentrated on washing himself and not the half-naked bombshell in the other room. He couldn’t deny, she was hot, and it had been a while since he’d had the company of the female persuasion. Oh, it wasn’t like he had any problems getting a woman if he wanted to, he was just at a point in his life where one-night stands didn’t appeal to him anymore. 

Following April’s lead, he’d forgone any clothing and wrapped a towel around his waist and joined her. 

Their food had arrived, and she’d arranged it on the table, so he set in front of her and dug in. 

“Can I ask, what got you started in the business?” he asked, cutting into his steak.  
She swallowed the piece of baked potato she’d been eating and said simply, “My family.”

He looked at her confused, “What are they hunters too?”

“No. My entire family was killed by vampires,” she stated flatly. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” he said in all sincerity. 

She waved him off, “It’s been over twenty years now. I’ve moved on.”

Jackson waited quietly, hoping she’d continue. He didn’t want to pry, but he was interested in her. 

She eyed him, not suspiciously, more as if she was wary. He figured she didn’t tell her tale to too many people and was weighing whether she could trust him or not. 

“I was five and a vampire couple invaded our farm in Ohio. My father had helped one of them when they stopped on our property claiming car trouble. My mom, being the devout Christian, she was, invited them in to have dinner with us while they called AAA for a tow. Of course, none would ever come, and they swarmed over us before we knew what was happening. My mom, dad and three sisters didn’t stand a chance and just as I was about to be exsanguinated, my savior, Bobby Singer came crashing through the door,” she said, her voice taking on an air of great sadness. 

“Bobby. Damn, he was awesome,” he said reflectively. 

She approved, “Yes, he was. He protected me, got me safely to my grandparents and over the years he kept an eye on me, which I greatly appreciated.”

“So, is that what made you want to do this?” he wondered.

“For sure. By the time I was sixteen, I was itching to get away from my grandparent’s home. Oh, they were lovely but naïve. I tried telling them my version of events once, but they chastised me for spinning yarns. I never did say anything again and refused to talk about it to the shrinks they sent me to, to help deal with the trauma of the event. I didn’t want to end up institutionalized and when I was eighteen, I split. I told them that I wanted to travel the world, but I ended up on the residing on the east coast instead. I’d made an initial stop to see Bobby and begged him to teach me how to be a hunter. Of course, he rejected me at first, but I was persistent. I told that him if he didn’t give me the tools I needed to survive, I’d just have to learn as I go. He was reluctant, but he trained me for months. After going with him on several hunts where he let me take the lead, he pronounced me proficient and sent me on my way. I’ve been based in Seattle for a few years and along with a few other hunters, patrol the surrounding states.” 

Jackson was amazed by her story. Most people would be traumatized by such a horrible experience, especially from an early age, but the woman in front of him was resilient and determined. 

It really turned him on. 

“What about you, Jackson Avery? What’s your tale of woe?” she asked. 

Jackson chewed his food thoughtfully, as he pondered whether he would tell her the real account of his journey or an abbreviated version. He rarely included the sordid details of his origins as a hunter when speaking of it. The only person who knew the real story was Bobby Singer and he wouldn’t be telling anyone from the grave. But he felt comfortable with April. He didn’t get the sense she’d judge him for his family’s mistakes, so he settled in and began his narrative. 

“My grandfather Harper Avery was a mean old bastard. From an early age, I could remember how cold and distant he was, not only to my parents but to me. He was always harping on me the importance of living up to the family name and maintaining a respectable image. I was a representative of the Avery dynasty and he would not tolerate any disobedience from me. I didn’t know what my grandfather did at that age, I just knew we were wealthy. My mom and dad were great and spoiled me, not with gifts and trinkets but with love. My dad worked as a lawyer and my mom was a paralegal at his firm. He was highly successful, specializing in corporate law. My parents, Catherine and Robert were killed in a car crash when I was fourteen and I had to move in with Harper. I hated it because I knew this would have been my parent's last wish. My maternal grandparents had tried to fight him for custody, but Harper was too powerful, and they didn’t have the finances to battle him in court. The only kind thing Harper ever did for me was to allow me to maintain a relationship with them.”

Jackson took a swig of his beer. He would need a drink before he delved into the next part. 

“By the time I was seventeen, I’d gotten curious about where our family money came from. Asking Harper was out of the question, but I’d developed a talent that came to use. I’d always been good with computers and was able to hack into my grandfather’s files and what I learned stunned me. It took me days to uncover all the data, but my grandfather dealt with and specialized in the underworld of the occult and all things paranormal. There was proof in his documents of dealings with demons, vampires, witches and the like. At first, I thought he’d discovered that I’d breached his firewall and planted the info to fuck with me. But the more I dug into the lore, the more I learned that it was true. I had intended to confront him when I found out something that shook me to my core. Harper kept meticulous records and I’m sure he never believed his secrets would see the light of day.”

He swallowed hard before he began again, “My parent’s death hadn’t been an accident. Harper had been working a witch’s coven leader named Aoife. Apparently, my dad had known what his father did and tried for years to get him to end his partnerships and all dealings with them. When he refused, my dad threatened to divulge the truth. He said he knew that people wouldn’t believe him at first, but he was very persuasive. A week later, my parents were dead. I could never directly tie him to having a part in their deaths, but I was able to track down who was. A witch named Nimah had hexed them. I ascertained the police records of the crash and found the evidence they’d overlooked only because it’s significance meant nothing to them. The only thing that stood out was a hoodoo bag that had been stuffed under the driver’s side seat and was filled with rabbit’s teeth, bird bones and various herbs. So, I did some more digging and found out what it was. I couldn’t figure why they would be a target because I refused to believe my grandfather could do something like that to his own child and was convinced it was retaliation against Harper for something he’d done wrong. I confronted him and demanded he be honest with me. He told me I was being ridiculous and that he could get me some professional help if I needed it. But I knew he was lying. My grandfather had a tell and over time, I’d learned to recognize it. I had some money my parents left me and once I turned eighteen, I left his home and never looked back. I immersed myself in all things monster-ish and hooked up with Bobby a year later. By the time, I’d quite a bit of knowledge on my own and he helped me learn the rest. I hunted that witch down and killed her and I knew then and there I wasn’t finished. I wanted to track down everyone on my grandfather’s cohorts on his list and eradicate them from the earth.”

She sat there her mouth agape, “And I thought my life was fucked up.”  
Jackson let out a huge belly laugh, and she joined him not long after. The irony of their situations not escaping them. 

“Is that how you fund your lifestyle. Your parent’s money?” she asked. 

“Believe it or not, no. I had a substantial trust fund, but my grandfather died five years ago, and he left me in his will. Yeah, I know, shocked the shit out of me too,” he said when he saw the look on her face.

“Maybe he forgot to take me out of it or maybe he just felt guilty. Anyway, the money’s a good cover and gets me into a lot of unlikely places,” he answered truthfully. 

“What about you? How do you manage?” he asked. 

“I actually have a job. I am a freelance writer and make my money that way. It’s a good cover for me as well. It allows me the chance to travel and whipping out my press badge comes in handy,” she said proudly.

Jackson didn’t want to spoil the pleasant mood they’d created, but he really wanted to know “How much longer do you see yourself doing this?” 

“I don’t plan on being a hunter forever. I mean, I appreciate what people like the Winchesters do, but that’s not how I want my story to end. I want a husband, kids. As a child, I’d fantasized about going to college. I love animals and wanted to be a vet and in the back of my mind, I hold onto the dream,” she said, and he swore he could see the stars in her eyes. 

“What about you? Are you a lifer?” she questioned.

“No way. I can see myself hunting a few more years if that, but I want the same things as you. Wife, kids, picket fence, backyard and the dog. I want someone to spend the rest of my life with,” he said. 

A silence fell over them and the air in the room became palpable as they gazed into each other’s eyes. 

Her eyes shifted away from his and she stood abruptly, “My hairs dry. I think I’d better get dressed and head out.”

Jackson panicked and blocked her path. 

“What are you doing?” she asked. 

“I uh… I-I am going to kiss you,” he stammered. 

“Really?” she said, eyes wide in astonishment. 

“Really,” he stated boldly. 

“You think so, huh?” she continued with no hint of expression on her face to give away her  
feelings on the subject. 

Jackson squared his shoulders, “Yes.”

“So, do you pull this routine on every woman you meet in every town?” she grilled him. 

“No, I don’t,” he said affronted. 

She tilted her head and squinted her eyes at him, “I believe you.”

And that was the last thing she said as she stood on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck kissed him full and hard on the lips. 

It didn’t take long for them to maneuver themselves to the king size bed. Stripping their towels away, they proceeded to have the most incredible sex he’d ever had. 

Jackson took his time with her. April wasn’t just the type of woman you rushed. He kissed, licked and nipped at every square inch of her body and she, in turn, his. He went down on her and spent an absurd amount of time savoring her. She tasted so good and she was extremely responsive. She clenched her thighs around his head as her foot rubbed over his ass, moaning and writhing as she rubbed her nails lightly over his skull and when she came, he held her hips firmly, refusing to let her move away as he happily lapped up every drop. 

He quickly got up from the bed, rummaged through his carry on and pulled out a condom. Rolling it on, he climbed on top of her and entered her swiftly. They spent hours with their hands touching, feeling and tracing every inch of the other’s bodies. Moving together, thrusting, heaving, grinding, the pressure building, giving each other orgasm after orgasm until they were so spent they couldn’t even bother to pull the sheets up to cover their once heated and now cooling bodies. 

“Wow, that was awesome,” he said, his body drenched in sweat as he tried to catch his breath. 

She giggled giddily, her own breathing labored, “Yes, yes, yes, it was!”

“You want a drink or something,” he asked, “there’s water and soda in the mini fridge.”  
She shifted so that she was facing him, “No, I’m fine. Just tired. You wiped me out.”  
They watched each other, satisfied smiles on their faces. He was about to ask her if she wanted to take a shower with him, thinking it could possibly lead to another round when she spoke up.

“I should go,” she said and rose out of bed. 

Before he could censure himself, he said something uncharacteristic, “I’m gonna say something crazy, but I want you to hear me out.”

Amid pulling on her jeans, she stopped and studied him, “Okay.” 

“Why don’t we ride together?” he proposed, excited at the concept. 

“What?” she said, eyes bugging out. 

“Look, you’re by yourself out here in the world and so am I. You know the life and it gets lonely. We can help each other, be the support each other needs. We both plan on only doing this a short while longer. Why not stick together? Watch each other’s back,” he said optimistically. 

She stared at him, obviously bewildered, “Jackson, I think you’re sweet, but I barely know you.”

“Ride with me and you’ll find out everything you need to know,” he begged. 

She shook her head slowly, “I’m sorry, I can’t. It was really nice meeting and working with you and I hope our paths will cross again, but no.” 

Jackson nodded his head solemnly. He knew it was a long shot, but he had to give it a try. 

She finished dressing then leaned over him and pecked him on the lips, “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

He grasped the back of her head and kissed her passionately. If this was the last time he was going to see her, he wanted to make a memory to last. 

The door shut softly behind her and Jackson pulled the covers up around him and stared up at the ceiling. He thought about the hours he made love to April, the time they spent fighting side by side and his initial meeting with her. Though he’d only got a glimpse of the woman, he had to admit, he was smitten. He hadn’t felt like this in years. No, he didn’t know, know her, but he felt in his heart that she was a good woman, a caring woman, a woman he could eventually fall in love with. 

He closed his eyes, a broad smile on his face and drifted off to sleep.  
The next morning, he woke up at nine and prepared to head out. He didn’t have any cases in the foreseeable weeks even though he knew how quickly that could change, so he decided to steer the car for his home base of Boston. 

By eleven, he tossed his bags into the trunk, climbed in the driver’s seat and started the car. Just then, he heard a loud bang on the passenger side window. 

Startled, he peered out the glass and saw a smiling April looking back at him making a hand motion for him to roll down his window. 

“Jesus woman, what are you doing?” he asked perplexed. 

“Got room for one more?” she inquired. 

“What?” he asked still confused. 

“Well, I had some time to think about your offer and well… I changed my mind,” she said her face bright and shiny. 

He unlocked and popped the trunk, so she could throw her bag in the bag and sidled in the seat next to him. 

“Where’s your car?” he wondered. 

“Sold it this morning,” she said as a matter of fact, “So, where are we going?”

He thought about his original destination and altered his plan, “Wherever the road takes us.”

Jackson gunned the engine and peeled out of the underground garage. 

He didn’t know how or why and if asked to put into words he could never explain, but he believed deep down in his soul that with April by his side, he was riding off with the woman who would be his future and the only love of his life.


	7. Find You by Demitruli

His hands were trembling when he shut the door behind him, but he didn’t want to show it. He didn’t want to show her how scared he truly was. See, she was a believer; she had her faith to turn to. But he… he was just scared as hell.

It was just the two of them in the room. Well, the three of them. Their baby girl was slightly fussing in the crib when his wife reached to pick her up.

“If I never see you again…” he trailed off. He couldn’t even bear the thought, but he had to say some sort of goodbye. Just in case.

“No.” she cut him off. “Stop that right now. Stop doubting her. She’s half Kepner, we are soldiers. She can do this.”

“You can’t just rely on a stupid prophecy, we don’t know if-”

“Please.” She pleaded with all her might, holding the baby tighter against her chest. “Please, have faith. Please.”

He took a deep breath. Then he nodded in defeat, even though it clearly wasn’t that easy. He couldn’t just believe, but he could pretend to. For her. “Alright.” He mumbled and reached to caress the baby’s head. He planted a kiss on her little forehead. “Okay.”

“She will find us.” She vowed. “Just like you always say. If you love them and they love you-”

His lips cut her off, urgent. Demanding. He wasn’t going to spend their last moment together recalling an old saying.

“I love you.” He whispered to her when they broke apart.

“I love you too.” She then smirked. “Even the things I don’t like.”

* * *

 

I sat on the chair in front of me with exhaustion, staring at the little cupcake on the table with dismay.

I didn’t know why I was still doing this, celebrating my birthday at all. But it was my own personal tradition for this day. Alone, in my empty apartment, blowing one single candle on top of that exact same banana-flavored cupcake from the bakery down the street. It was all a meaningless show, of course. I didn’t feel any more special after doing it. But tradition was tradition, meaningful or not. And plus, eating that cake at the end was worth the effort.

I pulled my hair up into a messy bun, and then let out a long sigh. “Happy birthday, self,” I mumbled quietly, closing my eyes to make a wish. I hadn’t planned on anything to wish for, but the second the time came it was as if the words popped up inside my head in the form of a plea. And I just let them be.  
Please, don’t let me be alone anymore.

With a sad smile, I opened my eyes again and sucked in a breath to blow the candle.

The doorbell rang.

The sound was so foreign that I jumped up ten feet in the air, startled. My hand flew to my chest instantly, a frown on my face. I eyed the cupcake nervously, and then glanced at the door, cautiously walking towards it.  
I looked through the spyhole, but there was no one there. Thinking it might be a prank, I gradually opened the door to check outside. Still, nobody was there.  
“Hello.”

My gaze shot down towards the source of the voice. No, I was wrong. There was someone there. In front of me stood a small child, maybe six or seven years old. He was rather thin and looked tired, yet excitement was overflowing his every characteristic. Freckles dotted the olive skin of his face, reaching right below his bright blue eyes. Two little dimples formed on his cheeks as he smiled up at me, revealing a perfect row of white, square little teeth.

I blinked at him. “Uh… hi.” I replied although it came out sounding like a question.

“Are you Harriet Kepner-Avery?” he asked.

“Yeah... Who are you?”

His grin got impossibly wide. “My name is Samuel. I’m your brother!” he exclaimed happily, opening his hands wide to make the revelation more dramatic.

I froze for a brief second. Then I snorted. “I don’t have a brother, kid.”  
Instantly his hands dropped, his face exaggeratingly frowning. “Yes, you do. Me!”

I glanced down the hall behind him. “Is this a prank? Where are your parents?”

“They’re back home.” He simply stated, still frowning.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Aren’t you a bit young to wander around on your own?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not the point. Don’t change the subject. I’m here for a reason.”

I raised my eyebrows at him, amused by his attempt to make his tone sound strict. “A reason? And what might that be?”

With his arms still crossed he narrowed his eyes at me, eyeing me carefully. He then pursed his lips. “No, I don’t think you’re ready for that yet.”

“Okay…” I slowly said, dragging the ‘o’. “How about you go home then? Do your parent’s even know you’re here?”

He seemed surprised by the question. “Oh. Well, not really.” He answered truthfully.

I almost groaned. Kids these days… “Alright, you know what, I bet they are really worried. I know I would be.”

He seemed a bit uncomfortable. “Yeah… I guess.” Then his eyes lit up. “Will you take me home?” he asked eagerly.

Oh. Perfect. “Where is home?”

“Storybrooke, Washington.”

My jaw dropped to the floor. “Washington?! That’s… how did you even get here?”

“By flying.”

I pinched my nose, unable to believe what was happening. “You got on a plane from Washington to Montana and your parents don’t even know?”

He flashed me an innocent grin.

I wanted to bang my head on the wall.

“Okay, kid, get in,” I ordered him, opening the door wider. “We are calling your parents.”

“Our parents.” He corrected as he happily made his way to the living room. “And they don’t really have a phone.”

“They don’t have a…” I had to cut my sentence in half not to start screaming. I took a couple of deep calming breaths. “Okay. We’ll figure something out. I’ll call the cops.”

“No!” he suddenly cried in alarm, jumping around to stare at me in horror. “No, please don’t!”

I walked to the phone. “I was going to call them anyway. What poor excuse of a parent lets their kid fly to another state?”

“They didn’t let me!” he argued. “I ran away.”

I gave him a glance. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I needed to find you and bring you back to our family.” He innocently explained.

“For the love of God, kid, I am not your... sister.” I couldn’t even say the word without grimacing.

“How do you know?” he asked.

And for a brief second, I found myself hesitating. Because the kid wasn’t wrong. How could I be sure? I was abandoned on the side of the road as a newborn with the only company of a single blanket with my name knitted on it. For all I knew, I could have a dozen of siblings running around. Not that it mattered anyway.

And come to think of it, it only made sense that someone who was capable of abandoning a baby like a bag of trash would let their other child travel the world unsupervised. Still, I was not going to take my chances and get in trouble for their irresponsibility. “I’m calling the cops,” I informed him, dialling 911.

“Then I’ll tell them you kidnapped me.”

My finger froze over the call button. He’d do what now? I stared at him in disbelief.

“You’re not gonna do that.”

He smiled, putting his little hands on his hips. “Try me.”

This was not happening.

He let his hands drop with a sigh. “Please, don’t call the cops. Please? Take me home.”

He begged.

I sighed, putting down the phone. “Kid…”

“Please? Pretty please?” he pleaded, pouting, flashing his wide, liquid eyes at me.

Oh, come on! “Fine!” I cried, giving up. “I’ll take you home.”

He let out a cry of victory, throwing his little fist in the air.

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll go book us tickets to… what was that called, again?”

“Storybrooke!” He yelled, his voice filled with enthusiasm.

I sighed. “Alright. Storybrooke it is.”

* * *

 

“What’s that?” I asked him as we were boarding the plane, pointing at the book he held tightly against his chest.

“A book.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I can see that. I mean, what is it about?”

“Stories.” He mumbled, looking straight forward.

I shook my head at him. “You’re impossible,” I told him as I handed away our tickets.  
The man gave me a weird look.

“Oh, not you!” I assured him, chuckling nervously. “You’re fine. Sorry.”

He handed me the tickets back, not commenting. Great, humiliating myself everywhere I go. Way to go, Harriet.

We walked to our seats and he sat next to the window, looking down in excitement. “I love flying!” he cried, a brilliant smile on his lips.  
I smiled back. “Yeah, me too.”

A while passed in silence, and by the time the plane left the airport it was already after midnight. I glanced at the kid, noticing he had left the book on his lap, nonchalantly gazing out the window. He looked a bit tired.

“Grey’s Anatomy?” I read the title out loud, raising an eyebrow. Wasn’t that a medical book or something? “That doesn’t sound like fairytales.”

“They’re not fairytales.” He mumbled his attention out the window. “Every story in this book actually happened.”

I huffed. “Of course it did.”

“I’m not lying to you. I never lie.” He informed me, giving me an offended look.

I stared back at him. “Just because you believe in something doesn’t make it true.”

“That’s exactly what makes it true.” He insisted. “You should know better than anyone.”  
“Why is that?” I asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Because you’re in this book.” He simply answered, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Oh, this was getting better and better. “Kid, you’ve got some problems.”

“Yep. And you’re gonna fix them. And I have a name, you know. It’s Samuel. Or Sammy. Not Sam, though, I don’t like that one.” He wrinkled his little nose.  
I couldn’t help but chuckle. Then, I decided there was no harm in playing along with his little game. “Alright, Samuel. Tell me, are you in this book too?” I asked, lying back in the seat.

“Yes. And our parents. And everyone. Here,” he said and opened the book, flipping through the pages. When he found what he wanted he turned the book towards me.  
I looked at the page in front of me. There was a big picture in the middle, a drawing in all shades of blue. It pictured a couple, a man and a woman seeming to be in their early thirties. They seemed to be on a bed, the man holding the woman from behind and leaning against her shoulder to peek at the newborn in her arms.  
“That’s me,” Samuel announced proudly. “And those are mom and dad. She works at the school and he’s at the hospital.”

A teacher and a doctor? I frowned and examined the drawing carefully. The man had short, shaved hair and his skin tone was a few shades darker than Samuel’s. And my own, I realized. His eyes seemed to be blue, although I couldn’t really tell since he was looking down at the baby with an amount of adoration that took your breath away. The same expression was on the woman’s face, whose smile was incredibly wide, two perfect dimples forming on her cheeks. Her hair, colored somewhere between red and orange, fell down her shoulders in soft waves.

“They look like they really love you.” I realized, stunned. No, more like worshipped him. The happiness flaring in their expressions was undeniable – there was also something else underlying their joy, however, but I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. Yet, I didn’t know what I had been expecting but I would never have guessed those were the parents of a kid who would run away from home.

“They do. They don’t really remember me anymore, though.”

I stared at him, shocked. “What? Why is that?”

He looked at me cautiously. “Are you really ready to know?”

His tone was so serious that I actually hesitated for a brief moment. “Sure, why not?” I answered eventually.

“It’s the curse. Everybody was ripped from their happy endings and everything they loved. They don’t remember who they are or who they love or how they got in Storybrooke, they just live normal, ordinary and plain lives. And time is frozen, it has been for 19 years. There’s only one person that can find a way to break the curse, and that is the savior. She was prophesized to return to Storybrooke on her 19th birthday, break the curse, restart the time and give everyone their happy endings.” He finished, grinning happily.

I don’t know if I was more creeped out by the fact that he apparently believed I was some kind of savior or that he somehow knew it was my 19th birthday today. Or maybe it was the entire story that had my skin breaking in goosebumps. I shook my head abruptly, lying back in my seat again. “I think you picked the wrong savior.”

He laid back on his own chair, his eyes on me. “Why do you say that?” he asked.

I huffed, bitterly. There was no point in explaining how my only purpose in this world was to work as a waitress to pay a rent. How I was dropped from foster home to foster home only to be kicked out for good as soon as I was an adult. How I was all alone. Nobody knew me, nobody loved me, nobody needed me. I was just a number. Just another meaningless face in the crowd. “I’m nobody’s savior, Samuel,” I mumbled softly, my eyes closing. This was not a time to start with all the useless self-pity.  
After a moment, I felt something warm on my shoulder. Little fingers wrapped around my skin, putting light pressure in a gesture of sympathy.

I opened my eyelids to look at him, and his ocean eyes were sad. He slightly squeezed my shoulder. “I think you are. You’re my savior.” He warmly said, the innocence of childhood in his little voice causing my heart to swell. “And I believe in you.”

It was a weird thing, how those little words suddenly had me growing emotional. I sucked in a breath as I gave him a smile of disbelief. “Has anybody told you that you’re a very special little boy?”

His smile in response was tender. Then he yawned, his dimples stretching. “I think I’m going to sleep for a while.” He murmured.  
“Oh. Do you want me to ask for a pillow?”

“No, I’m good.” He said, and before I could react he scooted closer to me, wrapped his hands around my arm to embrace it and laid his head on my shoulder. He closed his eyes, a small smile still on his lips. “Goodnight, Harriet,” he said, letting out a sigh as he squeezed his full cheek against me.

I stood there, shocked and entirely still, staring ahead with eyes filled with wonder. It took me a minute for my body to relax, completely unused to the contact. Then slowly, hesitantly, I let my head lean to rest on his own. “Goodnight…” I mumbled, my chest full of foreign warmth as I closed my eyes and drifted off into sweet unconsciousness.

* * *

 

“I don’t want to go!” he cried, trying to pull his hand out of mine. I grabbed him tighter, not wanting to lose him among the hundreds of children running around us, heading towards the school.

“Samuel! Stop yelling and talk to me.” I all but begged him, bending down for my eyes to be at the same level as his own. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to!” He shouted, tears beginning to run down his cheeks. “Please, don’t make me!”

“It’s your mother, honey. She must be worried sick.”

“Please.” He cried, his voice breaking. “Please!”

“Hey, hey, calm down and talk to me.” I wiped away his tears, pulling him to the side near some bushes. I lowered my body again and took his hands in mine, rubbing them with my thumbs to soothe him. “Are they being mean to you?” I asked him, looking deep into his eyes. “Is that why you don’t want to go back to them? Are they… are they hurting you?”

He shook his head furiously. “No, no! They’re good! They love me.”

I examined his face carefully. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He said with certainty and I couldn’t help but believe him.

“Then why don’t you want to go?” I asked, unable to understand.

He groaned in frustration, more tears dripping from his eyes. “Did you not hear a word I said? They don’t remember me!” he sniffed and hiccupped at the same time. “Don’t you know what it’s like to not be remembered? I hate it! I don’t want to go!”

I sighed, the pieces finally fitting together. “Samuel, I’m sure they remember you just fine. They are your parents. They can’t just forget they had a kid.”

I felt a sharp pang at my own words. My parents apparently could.

“It’s the curse!” He cried desperately, throwing his hands in the air. “The curse is real! How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Fine!” I yelled. “You know what? You stay right here. I’m going to go talk to your mom myself. And then you’ll see she remembers you just fine. Which one is she?”  
He sniffed and pointed towards the entrance of the school. Sure enough, there was a young redhead standing next to the door with a kind smile on her face as she waved and welcomed the running children. She certainly looked incredibly familiar to the woman in that drawing, which momentarily shocked me. Had they written and printed the book themselves?

I turned to give Samuel a last glance. “You stay right here, you understand me? Don’t move a muscle until I return.”

He nodded, sniffing again.

I sighed and slightly patted his back. “I’ll be right back,” I assured him and headed towards the school.

I walked at a quick pace and I reached her in no time. I didn’t really know how to call her, so I awkwardly walked up to her with my hands behind my back.

“Uh excuse me? Miss?” I called, and she turned to look at me.  
And then the second our eyes met, my breath hitched in my throat.

Those were my eyes! My eyes, exactly the same in shape and size and color… It was as if somebody had made two identical copies and glued them to our faces… And those eyebrows! They were the same as mine, in red instead.

“Oh, hi!” she chirped happily, smiling heartedly at me. “Can I help you?”  
I blinked rapidly at her, unable to believe what I was seeing. “Uh… Yeah, I-uh…” I gulped. I gave her my hand. “I’m Harriet.”

She took it, shaking it fondly. “I’m April, April Kepner. I’m a teacher here. Are you a student’s mother?”

I froze. “I’m sorry, did you say Kepner?”

She nodded, a bit confused. “What, you’ve heard of me?” she asked in disbelief as if that was impossible.

I was dreaming, right? I had to be dreaming. There was no way, no way in hell that this warm and loving woman was my… my birth mother. The same woman that abandoned me.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts. No, it couldn’t be. Besides, she seemed to be barely a bit more than ten years older than me. The time period simply didn’t match.  
I cleared my throat. “Uh, no. It just sounded familiar, I suppose. So, I got a late night visit last night from a little adventurer, Samuel, who travelled all the way to Bozeman to find me.” I chuckled. “I brought him back safe, don’t worry, he’s right there at those bushes. I’m sure you must have been very worried.”

She seemed confused for a second. “Samuel? Little Samuel Williams?” Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, did you inform his parents? How did this happen?”

“Wait, wait, no.” I huffed. “Your Samuel. Your son Samuel, he’s the one that came to find me.” I clarified.

She stared at me blankly. “I don’t… I don’t have a son.” She said, slightly snorting. “I think there’s been some kind of mistake.”

It took me a moment to realize I had heard her correctly. “Samuel. Your son.” I turned to point at him. He was standing right in front of a big bush about forty feet away, the only kid that wasn’t running toward us. “That’s him, right there.”

She looked towards where I was pointing, her eyes narrowing. “They’re all running, I don’t…”

“That one!” I shouted, my mask of composure finally breaking. “The one that’s standing there! Samuel.”

She shook her head, seeming confused as ever. Right then, the school bell rang, and she immediately took a step towards the entrance. “I’m sorry, I have to go...”

“No, wait, I-”

“I really hope you find his parents. Honestly! But I have to go now.” She said, her tone sincere, and she turned around to head inside with rushed steps.

I stood there, staring at where she had just been, unable to believe what was happening. Did she really just not remember him? How was that even possible?  
I turned around to look at Samuel, who was staring back at me with a knowing look. Fresh tears were streaming down his cheeks, and he was desperately trying to wipe them away with the inner side of his sleeve.

Confused as ever, I ran right back to him.

“Do you see what I meant?” He shouted, his little voice breaking with sobs.

“Oh, Sammy…” I leaned down to take his face into my hands. “Are you… are you sure that was your mom?”

Through his tears, he managed to give me a glare. “Yes, I’m sure Harriet! Who doesn’t know who their mom is?”

I bit my lip. Was it possible that it was an illness that had caused this? An amnesia of some short, perhaps? “Maybe if you went there and talked to her then…”

“I can’t!” he snapped, pulling away.

“Hey, I know this is hard, okay? But it might help. We have to try it.”

“It’s not that simple!” he cried. “It’s the curse! You have to break the curse!”

“Oh, enough with that nonsense, Samuel!” I shouted, so loudly he took a quick step back, startled. “There is no curse! Those things don’t exist! If you would just talk to her then-”

“I can’t!” he shouted back now, his face twisting into a grimace of pain. “I can’t okay? I can’t talk to her!”

“Why?”

“Because she can’t hear me!” he yelled, his voice breaking.

My face twisted into a frown of confusion. “What? What do you mean she can’t hear you?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, with a determined look, he curled his hands into tiny fists and took a step back. And another one. And another one.  
“Samuel, what are you…” I began saying, but he just kept walking backwards, about to jump in the way of a stream of wildly running kids. I jumped up at once to stop him. “Hey, watch out!” I yelled, but it was too late.

He took a final step out the open, and all sorts of children run right up to him all at once. I let out a cry of panic, expecting him to get run over. But he didn’t.  
Instead, he stood straight before me as a bunch of kids run through him. Samuel didn’t move an inch while more and more children passed from inside his body like he was made of thin air. Like he didn’t exist.

Pure horror shipped right into my core, my insides turning to ice. I took a step back, only to trip and land to the ground.

“Do you believe me now?” He yelled over the crowd, his blue teary eyes burning with agony as they bore into mine.

* * *

 

“I don’t understand,” I admitted, running my fingers through my hair. “You say you died as a newborn, right?”

He nodded, pointing at the baby in the same drawing he had shown me on our flight here. “Yes, right after that, in chapter eleven. I squeezed mom’s finger and then I went away.” He sighed. “I really didn’t want to, but I had ostrogensi Imprefeta.”

“You had what?” I bit back a smile.

He frowned. “It’s a hard word, okay? Give me a break.”

“But if you died as a baby… then why are you six years old now?” I asked, moving on.

“I am twenty-five and a half, Harriet.”

“Hold up, hold up. You mean to tell me you are older than me?” I asked incredulously.

He grinned proudly. “I am six and a half years older than you. And when time stopped, I stopped growing too. And guess what! The prophecy says that if I get you back on your nineteenth birthday and you break the curse I will come back to live with you guys again, as a real person!” He cheered, clapping.

His mental growth was apparently still attached to his physical one.

“Okay, so tell me something. Supposing this… curse… was real.” I said, wincing at the word.

“Which it is.” He interrupted.

“Which it might be, but we are talking hypothetically here.”

“Okay.” He agreed, crossing his arms over his chest in a businessman gesture.

I stared at him for a moment. God, I couldn’t believe I was actually considering this.

“How… would it hypothetically be broken?”

“Hytopethically?”

I blinked. “Um. Yes.”

“Well, the same way all curses are broken, of course.”

It took me a second to catch up. Then I chuckled. “What, like, with the true love’s kiss?”

He grinned.

My laughter turned into coughs. “You are kidding me, right?”

He shook his head.

I stared at him in disbelief. “What, I have to kiss someone?”

He shrugged. “You, anyone, it doesn’t matter. It just has to be true love. And everyone here was ripped from theirs because of the curse, so what you have to do is bring them back together and make them kiss.” He smiled. “It’s easy.”

“It’s insane is what it is.” I corrected him. “How do you even know this stuff?”

He pointed at the book.

I rolled my eyes. “Right. That old thing. Where did you find it?”

He shrugged. “It just… appeared.”

Of course, it did. I shook my head. “It doesn’t really matter anyway. It’s pointless. Even if we did try, it would be impossible to break the curse. I mean, who even finds true love these days?”

He gaped at me like I was missing something brighter than the sun.

“You’re talking about your parents, right?”

“Yep.”

I sighed. “Look, Samuel, I get that there’s something very odd going on here. Okay? I do. And you are a freaking ghost, that opens a whole new world of possibilities and supernatural stuff to consider. But still, isn’t a curse a bit stretched out? These things just don’t happen!”

“They so do!” He stubbornly argued. “It’s all in the book. Mom and Dad were living happily ever after, and then she appeared. Maggie Pierce.” His look darkened, his voice dropping to a whisper as he spat out the name with hatred. “She fell in love with Dad and wanted to be with him, but of course he loved mom. And so she thought that if she couldn’t have him nobody could, and she cast the curse to keep them apart. But what she didn’t know, of course, was that mom was pregnant with you. You were born a day before it all took place.”

And there that goes again. “Samuel… I really don’t think your parents are my parents. My parents weren’t good people. The abandoned me. They left me on the side of the road.”

He groaned, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “And you still don’t see it! They didn’t abandon you, Hattie.” He told me in all seriousness. “They were cursed. They didn’t have a choice.”

I swallowed, my chest heavy. “Samuel…”

“No, look,” he said and opened his book, turning it to a page near the end. “Here, in chapter twelve. Look at the picture.”

And I did. I looked at the drawing on the page he was showing me, this one full of all sorts of colors. It was them again, the same couple, again embracing each other. In the woman’s –April’s – arms was another baby, and the man was leaning down to kiss the infant’s little head. The looks of adoration were back on their faces, but not a trace of anything but joy in their eyes this time. They were just happy. So incredibly happy, as if the baby in their arms was suddenly their entire world. The baby which was covered in a pink little blanket. My pink little blanket.

I grabbed the book from Samuel, putting the page in front of my eyes. “It can’t be…” I muttered in shock, but it truly was it. You could even distinguish the knitted letters on it.

Harriet Kepner-Avery.

I gaped at it open-mouthed, at a loss for words.

“Do you see it now?” he asked, putting his little hand on my knee. “The curse separated you from them like it separated them from each other. But you are the product of true love.” He smiled. “So am I, but I died. But you are alive. You can bring them back together. You can break the curse. You are the savior, Harriet, you’re the only one who can. You just have to believe it too.” He said, his eyes narrowing as he squeezed my knee.

I let out a shaky breath. My parents. Could it be? Was it even possible that everything I had taken for granted my entire life was wrong? Was it possible that… that they had never left me? That they actually loved me?

Well, there was only one way to find out, I guessed.

“Okay,” I said determinedly. “So, what now?”

He squealed, literally squealed, and jumped to his feet. “Oh, I knew it! I knew you’d believe me!”

I rolled my eyes. “Will you tell me what to do, or should I catch the next flight to Montana?”

He giggled. “As if you’d ever leave me alone now. You love me! And I don’t blame you, I’m adorable.” He stated matter-of-factly. I rolled my eyes again. “Anyway, now we have to go to the hospital to see dad. Follow me, little sister.” He ordered and began walking, grabbing my hand with his tiny fingers to pull me with him.

I huffed in disbelief. Then I grinned. “I’m coming… big brother.”

* * *

 

I tried my best to not let out an embarrassingly loud cry of despair in the middle of the hospital hall. I miserably failed.

“When you said Dad was at the hospital,” I hissed at him, trying not to draw attention, “I thought you meant he was a doctor here, not a freaking vegetable!”

He put his hands behind his back awkwardly. “Hehe… oops?”

I shook my head in dismay and crossed the hallway in front of me to enter the single room at its end. It was just an ordinary hospital room, with white walls and blue sheets, an old TV and two windows. One of them was next to the door, facing the hallway inside. The other was facing outside, endless droplets of rain hitting the glass with might –so fitting to the state of Washington. And there, on the only bed in the room, with a dozen monitors and machines attached to his body, laid unconscious the man from the drawings. My… possible father.

Hesitantly, I closed the door behind me and made my way to the bed to examine his face closely. His eyes were closed, obviously, but apart from that, his face looked really familiar. He looked much like Samuel, I realized. But his nose… I had his nose. Or, well, a slightly thinner version of it. I grimaced, finding it unbelievable that I could find my own characteristics in other people’s faces.

“Jackson, right?” I asked, and Samuel nodded. “Jackson Avery…” I trailed off, slightly smiling. I reached to brush the outer side of my fingers against his cheek, caressing it softly. “What’s wrong with him?” I asked after a moment.

Sammy shrugged. “I don’t know! Nobody will say and I can’t really ask them.”  
I sighed. “How on earth are we going to make them kiss if he’s unconscious? It’s not like I can hang a mistletoe over his head and it will just magically happen.” I turned to give him a strange look. “Right?”

He shook his head.

“Okay. Just had to make sure.”

“You know, mom comes to the hospital twice a week as a volunteer.” He informed me. “She will come again tonight to put new flowers and stuff in a few patients’ rooms.”  
I grinned. “Sweet. That’s actually brilliant. So we just have to wake him up before that.” I concluded, trying to come up with a plan. “But how?” I wondered out loud, rubbing my chin.

“Well, I might know someone who can help with that…” he trailed off. I raised my eyebrows.

Five minutes later, I was staring at the back of the man in question, panic rising inside my chest. “Remind me why this is a good idea?” I hissed at Samuel, not wanting people to give me strange looks when they came to the conclusion I was talking to thin air. It was hard enough on me when I realized those strange looks everyone had given me at the airport when I bought two tickets weren’t because I looked ‘too young to be a mom’ as I had originally thought.

Samuel patted me on the back. More like the hip. “It’ll be fine. I’ve been following him around for years, he is a sweetheart. And he is basically the closest dad had to a father before the curse. Just say what I told you.”

I sighed. “Alright. Fine. I’m going.”

I walked up to the man, standing right beside him. After a few moments of him not noticing me, I cleared my throat. “Uh, hi. Are you Mark Sloan?”

The man turned to look at me, a smirk at his lips. “I see my reputation precedes me.” He said in a flirty tone. He offered me his hand. “Dr Mark Sloan. And you are?”

I cleared my throat. “Harriet. Pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” He winked at me.

I raised one finger. “Save it. You have a daughter, right?” I asked him, moving along with the plan.

That seemed to shake his flirtatious mood a bit. “Yes…” he trailed off.

“And you are married to her mother. You have everything you ever wanted. Almost. But there’s this thing missing that you can’t quite name, this empty hole inside you that you can never fill no matter how much you try, and no amount of sex can make you feel content. Am I right?”

He seemed honestly shocked for a second. “Pretty-face, you’re scaring me.” He said, his eyes slightly narrowed.

“But I can help,” I mumbled, looking into his eyes intensely.

He smirked, leaning closer. “Yes, I bet you can…”

Oh, for the love of… “I’m serious here.”

“So am I,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

I heard Samuel’s childish giggle from behind me, and I turned to give him a deadly glare. He quickly covered his eyes with his hands, still grinning widely. If he was aware of what Sloan was talking about, I didn’t want to know it.

I turned back to Mark, narrowing my eyes at him as I grabbed him by the collar of his coat. “Listen to me, mister. I haven’t eaten in twenty hours, I spent the night of my birthday on the most uncomfortable flight from Montana to here to find out that my entire life is turned upside down, still here I stand in front of you, offering you the happiness nobody else can offer with the exchange of a tiny little favor, which you can do with your eyes closed. Now, will you take the gutter out of your mind for one damn second and hear me out, or do I have to force it out myself?”

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes smirking.

“Don’t tell me you like them aggressive.”

He grinned. “I do.”

I groaned, letting go of him. “This is not happening…”

“But I am all ears.” He added.

I was the one to smirk this time.

* * *

 

“Avery?” Mark snorted, walking up to Jackson’s bed. “Yeah, I know Avery! He’s my boy. My better half. Always hears me when I talk without interrupting, never missed a birthday...” he winked at me and whispered. “I spend them all here. Isn’t that right, Avery?” He asked the unconscious man, lightly slapping his cheek. “Attaboy.”

“Can you wake him up?” I asked, losing my patience.

He huffed. “Wake him up? Who am I, God?” he then laughed to himself. “Only in bed, sugar.”

I turned to Samuel. “How was he supposed to help?”

He giggled. “I don’t know. He talks funny!”

“Who are you talking to?” Sloan asked me, his eyebrows knitted together.

I closed my eyes, letting out a long, unstable breath. “No one, just… do you even know what’s wrong with him?”

“Isn’t it written in his chart?”

“How on earth should I know? I’m not the fucking doctor here!” I snapped.

I felt something tug my sleeve. I looked down to see Samuel frowning at me. “That’s a bad word.”

Could somebody please just bring me a balcony to jump off of already?

“There’s no chart,” Mark exclaimed, bringing me back to my senses.

“What?”

“There’s no chart. There’s always a chart in every patient’s room. This is odd.”

“Huh…” I frowned. “How do we find out what’s wrong with him now?”

“I don’t know. We don’t have an electronic tracking system, so the chart is all there is. I suppose we could schedule an MRI, but I need to call Neuro for a consult first and that could take a while.”

Damn it. “Can’t we just take him to the machine and take one?” I asked Mark.

“That’s not how it goes.”

“I didn’t ask you how it goes. I asked if we can do it.”

He gaped at me. “Are you insane, kid? Do you want me to lose my job?”

“What’s a job compared to your happiness?” I shot back.

He seemed to think about it for a second. Then he frowned. “You are so buying me drinks afterwards.”

I huffed. “I’m not sleeping with you. You’re old enough to be my father.” Plus a ‘grand’, I guessed.

“I wouldn’t sleep with you if you begged me, you are way too annoying. I just need some alcohol in my system.”

“Fine, whatever.” I agreed, throwing my hands in the air in frustration.

“Good. Here, take this.” Mark said and threw me a plastic bag. When I examined it closely, I realized it contained a pair of navy blue scrubs. I raised my eyebrows at him.

“So we won’t get caught.” He explained. “Now go change and come help me move him.”

I run to the bathroom to change into the scrubs. It was funny that when I looked into the mirror, I actually liked what I was seeing. With a grin on my lips, I run back outside to notice Mark had removed all the machines from Jackson but his incubator.

“This is so fun!” Samuel screamed as he was using one free spot on the bed as a trampoline.

“Hey!” I yelled at him. “Stop it. You’ll fall down and hurt yourself.”

“I’m already dead!” he yelled back, sticking his tongue out at me.

“I don’t know who’s more insane, you or me for agreeing to this,” Mark exclaimed, looking at me like I had lost my mind. Well, I probably had.  
We moved him across the halls, doing our best not to draw attention. We had to stop and hide in a few supply closets along the way, but we eventually made it to the MRI machine. When the last doctors occupying it were done, we rushed the gurney in as quickly as we could.

We lifted Jackson up to put him on the machine. We then run up to the gallery and turned it on, waiting for the scans to show on the screen.

As we were waiting there, I couldn’t help but think of what would happen if we did wake him up. How were we supposed to make two strangers kiss out of the sudden? Cause if Samuel’s sayings were true, then they would have no idea who each other was.  
I blew out some air in frustration.

Mark noticed. “What?”

Hm. Well, there was no shame in asking. “Let me ask you a question. If you wanted to, say, make two people hook up, what would you do? Say they were strangers.”  
He raised an eyebrow. “What on earth are you up to, pretty-face?”

“I need a girl to kiss Jackson.” God, I sounded like that crab from the little mermaid.

He glanced towards the unconscious man. Then back at me. “I think that’s called necrophilia."

“If and when he wakes up.” I clarified. Jeez.

“Why?”

“Because they’re meant to be.”

“Good enough.” He pursed his lips. “Is she at least pretty? My boy deserves the best.”

I was pretty damn sure at this point that he didn’t even remember knowing ‘his boy’, but I kept my mouth shut. “She’s beautiful,” I replied.

“Alright then. What I would do is give her a pep talk.” He cleared his throat and his voice deepened noticeably. “‘You are an attractive woman. He is an attractive man. Take one for the team’.”

I could actually picture him say that, and I couldn’t help but wince at the thought of April’s reaction. “Isn’t that sexual harassment?”

“I like to think of it as sexual encouragement.”

I rolled my eyes.

And then, finally, the results appeared, revealing plenty of different perspectives of Jackson’s brain. I glanced at Mark in alarm, waiting for him to process what he was seeing in agony.

“He’s not gonna die, is he?” I couldn’t help but mutter after a few endless moments of silence.

“What? No, he’s fine, but just-”

“I’m sorry.” I shook my head. “I’m shutting up, you do your thing.”

“No really.” Mark insisted. “He’s fine.”

I frowned. “What?”

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” Mark stated in surprise. “His brain is perfect.”

I stared at Jackson’s unconscious body in confusion. “Then why isn’t he awake?”

“I don’t know,” Mark answered, and for the first time since I met him, there wasn’t a glimpse of amusement in his tone.

* * *

 

A hand slammed something on the little table next to Jackson’s bed and I jumped up, startled. “Mark! What the hell?”

“I found it.” He announced proudly. “I am officially a God outside the bedroom too.”

“What?” I asked, bewildered. I took hold of the object on the table and examined it closely. It was a tiny bottle. A bottle of… “Anesthetic?” I asked in disbelief, my eyes narrowing.

He nodded. “I ran a blood test and found it in his blood. Someone has been drugging him.”

“Dad is on drugs?!” Samuel asked, horrified.

“Nobody’s on drugs, buddy, don’t worry,” I assured him, patting his back. “So what now?” I asked Mark.

He was giving me a strange look. “Uh… yeah, so I took care of it. He should be awake within an hour.”

Samuel gasped. “That’s just in time for mom to find him awake!”

“I know!” I agreed excitedly. The timing couldn’t be more perfect.

“Can you please explain to me who you are talking to?” Mark cut in.

I grinned. “I think I’ll let you wonder. Okay, thanks, Mark!” I took his hand, shaking it firmly. “Thank you for everything. You are free to go now.” I gestured Sammy to follow me as I walked out the door.

“Wait, what?” Mark asked, frowning. “Hey! Where are you going? What about me? I woke him up, like God! I deserve to know what is happening!”

Samuel giggled, running after me.

“I am not happy, pretty-face!”

“If we succeed…” I yelled behind my shoulder as I run, “…it will happen! Just wait!”

We raced down the halls, heading towards the lobby. “Where are we going, really?” Samuel asked.

“We have to make sure they actually meet, right?” I asked him, panting, as we reached the reception.

“Yes…” He agreed, raising one eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making sure,” I replied, checking if anyone was looking before I opened the drawers, looking for the volunteers’ records. When I finally found it, I looked through the pages to find the one writing which patient rooms were assigned to which volunteers for today. I quickly glanced through the names, easily spotting April Kepner. Thankfully, the numbers of the rooms were handwritten, so I could easily add Jackson’s room to them.

Fast as I could, I put the files back in the folder and that in the drawer, and made my way out of the lobby before anyone realized what I was doing.

“You are so smart!” Samuel exclaimed, grinning widely.

“Yeah, that’s usually the case with the younger siblings.”

“Hey!”

I chuckled and ruffled his hair playfully. “I’m messing with you. You’re smarter than me. Besides, without you, I’d still be drowning in misery in that empty apartment.”

“Damn right you would.” He agreed, proud of himself.

* * *

 

When we made our way back to Jackson’s room, Mark was nowhere to be found. We both sat at each one of Jackson’s sides, waiting expectedly for him to wake up.  
I didn’t realize when it had happened, but somewhere along the way I had grown to think of these strangers as something more than just strangers. Sitting here now felt like I was waiting at the bedside of a loved one.

And so when his eyes fluttered open, I didn’t think of it twice before I took hold of his hand, squeezing it slightly.

“Jackson?” I asked. “Jackson, can you hear me?”

He blinked rapidly, his expression confused. When his eyes finally focused on my face, I smiled at him warmly.

“Hi,” I said, squeezing his hand again.

Samuel jumped up the bed, climbing on Jackson’s chest. “Daddy’s awake! Daddy’s awake!” he cheered, jumping up and down. I tried not to giggle.

The man examined my face carefully. “Wh-where am I?” he stammered, his voice rough.

“You’re at the hospital,” I informed him. “You were in a coma.”

“A coma?”

“You don’t remember anything, do you? You, uh… you were in an accident.” I improvised. “You lost your memory, but it’s only temporary. It will all come back to you later, don’t worry.” I reassured him, deeply wishing I wasn’t lying.

He looked at me again. “Who are you?”

“Me? Oh, I… I’m a nurse. I’m just a nurse here.” I winced immediately after I said the words since it was the surgeons that wore the navy scrubs instead. I hoped he wouldn’t notice.

“Oh.” He exclaimed. He then nodded. “Okay. Do I… do I have any family here?”

I gulped. “I’m afraid I am not aware. But for now, if you need anything –and I mean anything at all- you let me know, okay? I’m your… assigned, personal nurse.”

He frowned. “Those exist?”

“Sure!” I chirped, grinning widely.

“Oh. Well, thank you. Nurse…?”

Oh. Crap. “Uh, just call me Harriet.” I offered.

He raised one eyebrow. “From Tubman?”

How the Hell should I know, dude? You named me! “Uh, also ‘The Spy’. It’s a really good book.”

“Huh. Never heard of it.”

Tubman it is, then.

“Mom is in the building! I repeat, mom is in the building!” Samuel shrieked from his spot at the window facing the hall. My chest clenched in excitement.

Sammy turned to me, eyes wide. “Set the atmosphere, woman!”

‘What?’ I mouthed at him in alarm. I knew nothing of romance!

“Just do something! Slow music, low lights, I don’t know. Anything!”

In panic, I run to the closest switch and turned off the lights.

He slammed his forehead. “You are a disaster.”

“Oops! My bad, sorry!” I mumbled at Jackson in embarrassment and turned them back on. Then I cleared my throat, glancing towards the exit nervously. I guessed the best atmosphere I could set up for them was with my absence.

“Uh, I actually have a few errands to run. I’ll be right back though, okay?” I quickly said and flew the room without waiting for an answer.

Only seconds later I was at a safe distance, and I spotted April nearing the room. She crossed the hallway, her hands full of folded towels and bouquets, her gaze set to the ground. With my heart in my throat - or was it guts? - I watched her pace slow down as she finally walked through the door.

A loud squeal came from behind my back, and I jumped up in the air startled.

“Sorry,” mumbled Samuel who had managed to slide behind me, but he didn’t sound remorseful at all. With unrestrained enthusiasm written all over his face, he began marching proudly towards the room. As soon as he took one step, I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him aside.

“Hey, what are you doing?” He complained. “We have to watch!”

“We will.” I whispered. “But they can’t see us.”

“They can’t see me anyway.” He whined but still followed me as I all but crawled down the hallway until I reached the window looking at Jackson’s room. I stood up to my knees and Samuel at the tip of his toes, but both of our heads just barely popped up the window, just enough for us to peek inside. Thankfully, the door was left open, so we could hear them too.

* * *

 

April made her way to the bedside table, casually placing a white rose at the vase set there.

“Hello.”

She clearly wasn’t paying much attention to her surroundings, which is why when Jackson spoke, she let out a little shriek of surprise.  
He chuckled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Oh no, it’s totally fine. I was just…” she began saying, but then she looked at him and a glimpse of recognition shined in her eyes. “Oh, dear God. You’re awake!” she exclaimed surprised.

He frowned. “You know me?”

“No, no…” She flushed. “I’m a volunteer here. I’ve been bringing you flowers for a long while… I’m just really surprised to see you awake.”

“Oh.” He gave her a grateful smile. “That’s so kind of you.”

Her blush got deeper. “It’s nothing.” She shrugged it off. “I wish I could have done more. But weren’t you in a coma?” she asked, curiously. “What happened?”

“I don’t really know myself.” He answered honestly. “I just barely woke up.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Where is your family, then?” she asked, looking around the room.

“I’m… not quite sure I have any.” He replied, sadness burning in his tone.  
She hesitated for a brief second, unsure of what to do. Then she sighed, smiling at him sadly. “You’re not the only one.” She softly mumbled, their eyes meeting for a long moment to share a meaningful glace.

And for a while, it seemed like neither of them could look away. The atmosphere in the room shifted, a vivid tension building in the air.  
And then, quickly, April pulled her eyes of him, looking at the ground with her cheeks filling with color.

“What?” Jackson asked, looking at her curiously, still a bit dazzled but the intensity her gaze had held.  
She avoided his eyes, biting her lips.

“What is it?” He asked again, sitting straighter on the bed.

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid.” She huffed, embarrassed. “Forget it.”

“No, tell me.” He insisted, an encouraging smile on his lips. “Please. I haven’t talked to a single person in hell knows how long, whatever it is you’re thinking of I would love to hear it.”

It took her a long second but eventually, she hesitantly looked up. “Your eyes are mesmerizing.” She told him and her gaze dropped again, her cheeks turning impossibly redder.

“Oh.” He simply said. Then he smiled.

“I’m sorry! I told you, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not.” He assured her, slightly bashful himself. “And thank you.”  
She awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck, looking down. “Uh… okay, so… I brought you some new towels. Although I suppose it’s for nothing since nobody ever uses them in your room and the previous ones are perfectly clean too. I don’t even know why I brought them, honestly, I didn’t even know you had woken up.”

He smiled at her rambling, thinking it was cute. “Well, thank you for them anyway. So what do you do?” he changed the subject, suddenly curious.

“Me? Oh, I’m just a teacher. Elementary school.” She brushed it off.

“Wow. You must have a lot of patience.”

“They’re good kids.” She said instead, slightly defensively.

His smile got wider. “You sound like you love them.”

“You picked that up from a single sentence?”

“Not really. It was your eyes that gave you away.”

“What about my eyes?” She asked playfully. She hadn’t realized it but she had moved significantly closer to him, and he was leaning towards her. Her face was merely a foot away from his, providing him a full view of the honey depths of the eyes in question.  
And instantly, he felt himself falter. To say they seemed familiar would be an understatement. He felt like he had spent a century looking at those hazel eyes. Yet this girl, this April… the name didn’t ring a bell. He’d blame his temporary amnesia, but obviously, she didn’t know him either.

“I mean, you really did just sound like a mama-bear protecting its cubs.” He replied instead, shoving the eerie thoughts away.

She laughed, and the sound caught his attention. It was quite unique, how the laughter seemed to surprise her herself. Like she was surprised she could laugh that freely. It was a beautiful sight.

He huffed, and that irritated the existing lump in his throat – soon he was coughing. As of instinct, she jumped closer, her hand shooting to his back, patting it tenderly.

“Can you… water?” he managed to choke out between coughs.  
Instantly she reached for the glass on the counter, purred some water in it and handed it to him. She watched as he hungrily gulped it down, suddenly realizing how thirsty he truly was.

“Wow. You really did just wake up, didn’t you? And here I am, talking about my job.” She felt a sting of guilt.

“I asked you, remember?”

“Yeah, but then I replied back…”

He suddenly felt an unexplainable urge to keep this blaming game going, and the strength of it had him balking once again. What was this odd feeling of déjà vu washing over him?

She licked her dry lips. “What did the doctors say? How are you?”

He handed the glass back to her and shrugged. “There was only a nurse here. She didn’t really explain much.”

She frowned. “What poor excuse of a hospital is this? You just woke up from a coma and they just leave you here all alone without even bothering to explain what- you know what? This is not okay. I’m gonna go talk to the chief right now. Stay here.” She ordered him angrily as if he could possibly move from his bed anyway.  
He tried to hold back a laugh. Her anger was like that of a kitten, and he adored how she felt the need to stand up for him, even though she had just met him. She was kind, he realized. And then he smiled at her.

“Thank you.” His sincerely was obvious in his tone. “But please don’t go. I haven’t talked to another person in so long, and to you I would love to keep talking. I mean, if you don’t have anything else to do… I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re no burden.” She mumbled, slightly stunned by the fact that he seemed to truly mean what he had just said. She sat at the edge of his bed, her heart humming for a reason she couldn’t quite understand.

It was the only time half the patient’s rooms were left with no flowers.

* * *

 

Twelve minutes. For twelve entire minutes we stood there waiting, watching them interact, and the feeling of initial anticipation had flown like the time. I sighed for what seemed like the millionth time today, boredom taking over me.

“Why aren’t they kissing?!” Samuel cried in despair. Contrary to my state of boredom, he seemed to be still very much on edge, bounding up and down on his little feet.

“They literally just met, Samuel. Give them some time.”

He seemed to mumble something under his breath but I didn’t catch it. “She’s going to leave soon.” He warned.

And to be fair he had a point. She was going to leave soon, and I had to come up with something. I wouldn’t stay in this town forever. “Can we fake him coding? Make her perform CPR on him?” The kiss of life. It had to count for something, right? But he would still be breathing and talking, and I supposed convincing either of them that he needed CPR might be slightly hard.

Samuel groaned. “That won’t even work, it has to be a real kiss. Come on, Harriet, hurry! We have to-” his sentence was cut mid-air as his eyes suddenly widened. “Oh my God.” He gasped.

I followed his gaze to the new pair, and instantly I felt my heart skip a beat. April had just dropped a set of towels on the floor next to the bed and had bent down to get them. At the same time, Jackson had leaned closer himself, even though he couldn’t really help her. Now that she was coming back up, the distance between them had disappeared, with their faces being only inches apart.

Instantly, April blushed and was about to pull away, when Jackson’s hand came to cup her cheek, holding her in place. A heartbeat passed with them frozen, startled by the position they had suddenly fallen in.

I watched, breathless, as Jackson hesitantly moved even closer, unsure of whether he would be accepted or not. His worries weren’t met, however. April let out a sigh which caressed his nearing face, and her eyelids fluttered closed.

It was as if the scene in front of me was played in slow motion when he finally covered the distance between their mouths. His lips captured hers.  
Well, that didn’t take them long.

“OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD, HARRIET, OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!” Samuel cried, his little voice rising with excitement, with happiness he couldn’t possibly contain. He turned to me, eyes wide and mouth open.

I knew my expression mirrored his own. I could feel it, that emotion that bubbled inside my chest, spreading throughout my entire body, filling me with warmth. Joy. “Holy crap!” I shouted in exhilaration.

“We did it! WE BROKE THE CURSE!” he yelled and jumped right into my waiting arms.

“We did it! We did it!”

I span him around, as I let the feelings take over my body. Joy, excitement, happiness, I took it all in, savouring this incredible, impossible moment. I spun him in my arms, and I laughed, I cheered, I shouted. He was giggling uncontrollably with that adorable, loud laughter of his, squeezing his arms around my neck, his legs flying in all directions.

“We did it!” I cried, unable to believe it. “We freaking did it, holy crap!”

I stopped twirling us for a moment to look at his face. His cheeks were reddened in excitement, his blue eyes shining. “I knew it. I knew you could do it! I knew it all along.” He mused, grinning widely.

I shook my head. “No, it was you. You brought me here, you did everything. If it weren’t for you, I would still be in Montana eating lonely cupcakes.”

He smirked. “True. I take all credit.”

I giggled. The sound surprised me. It came out so light, so carefree, without the slightest of effort. When my eyes met Samuel’s again, it looked like he knew exactly what I was thinking. He reached to caress my face with his little fingers, his bright dimples appearing on his cheeks again as he smiled.

A clearing of a throat had my head turning towards an old lady passing through. She was staring at me with spite. “Could you talk to your imaginary friend a bit softer, young lady? You’re making my hearing aids whistle.”

Instantly I felt my face grow hot in embarrassment. I lowered my gaze. “I’m sorry, I was-” I began saying, but then I actually registered her words.

I looked up at her, suddenly frozen in place. “Did you say, imaginary friend?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve just been talking to yourself all along, cause that would be a grand disappointment.”

“You can’t see me?” Samuel asked her with a worried tone. I let him slide to his feet, but he was grasping my forearm tightly. “Hey! Talk to me lady, can you still not see me?” he demanded.

The woman didn’t answer. She didn’t even acknowledge she had been talked to.

“Um, Excuse me, but… Can you not see him?” I asked again and pulled Samuel in front of me.

“See who?”

Crap.

I pulled my eyes off of the old lady and turned towards the window to look at the couple in the room. April had quickly pulled away from the kiss, blushing furiously in embarrassment. Jackson was rubbing the back of his head awkwardly, muttering an apology.

Crap, crap, crap…

Samuel walked gradually towards the window, placing his small palms against the cold glass. “It didn’t work.” He muttered, his tone indistinguishable.  
And it truly hadn’t. The curse didn’t break like we thought. We failed.  
“Damn it!” I hissed. What did we miss?

“Why didn’t it work?” He voiced my own question, turning to look at me. I watched him as he processed what was happening, read all of the emotions on his transparent face. Confusion, disappointment, hurt, worry, fear, urgency. “It was supposed to work!” He snapped. “The book said that it would, an act of true love, it said! They’re supposed to recognize each other. Why are they not remembering?”

“I don’t know…” I mumbled. A flash of doubt began clouding my mind, but I shoved it away. I had seen more than enough by now to know the curse was real. “I don’t understand. If an act of true love is supposed to break the curse, then...”

Samuel glanced at the big clock on the wall and then let out a sound of despair. “Ugh, why didn’t it work? What is happening?!”

The last word hovered in the air as an endless moment of silence began. The seconds ticked by, leaving both of us numb. And then, out of the sudden, I knew what had gone wrong.

I let out a groan. Of course. “It’s not true love.”

“What? Of course, it is, Harriet, have you been paying no attention?” he shot back angrily.

“It’s not true love,” I explained, “because they don’t remember. They are cursed, Samuel. They don’t know each other, how can they love each other? This kiss didn’t count, it wouldn’t. We have been wrong all along.”

I saw the realization in his eyes, watched as they widened substantially at first before his expression broke. Panic took over his childlike features. “Oh, no… No, no, no, this… it can’t-we can’t have been wrong-we…”

I took a deep breath to clear my mind. Then I tried to give him a smile. “Hey, it’s okay. Don’t be upset. We’ll figure it out, okay? We have all the time in the world to make this right. I’ll stay here with you, for as long as it takes.”

My own words had me faltering for a moment before I realized that I actually would. I would stay. I didn’t really have a choice anymore, this little boy that had so abruptly bumped into my life and changed it thoroughly in a single day had come to mean so much to me, more than anybody else ever had. And there was no way I was leaving him alone. Not now, not ever. I felt a protective instinct kick in when I was around him, one

I didn’t know I had in me. I wanted to seal him from the world, never let anything happen to him, just like an older sibling felt the need to protect the younger one. This way of thinking was so foreign to me it felt almost funny, yet I was shaken by how accurate it was. I really did see him as a little brother after all.  
I smiled. Did I say little?

But the thing was, I wasn’t going to stay with him just for his shake. I needed him too. I knew now that I couldn’t spend a day without seeing those ocean eyes of his lighten up when he let out that bubbly laughter. Without seeing him knit his thick eyebrows as he concentrated –looking almost angry, something I found hilarious personally. I would miss his chubby cheeks, his mispronounced words, his unrestrained enthusiasm, the feeling of his little hands around my neck… I would miss him so terribly that I would be unable to think straight. How could someone so tiny have such a huge impact on me in such little time?

It was a done deal, then, I was going to stay in this odd town. At least, until the curse was broken. How I was going to break it, though, was a completely different matter. How we were going to break it. But I figured we wouldn’t have to look far. Sometimes the answer is right before our eyes, right? And this was one of those times.  
We’d simply have to make Jackson and April fall in love again.

They already had once, so there was no doubt they would again, now that he was also awake. They had already made a great start themselves. All we had to do was make it happen. Push them towards each other, create the ideal bonding conditions… We had this. We would have them falling for each other in no time.  
I realized I was quite fond of this mission, honestly.

First thing I had to do, of course, was find us a motel. I had some savings on the side, they should be enough. The longer we stayed, of course, the harder it would be to manage it all, but I tried not to think about that. I wondered if I would have to get a single or double room. Samuel had slept on the plane on our way here so I knew he would probably need a bed, but then again I could just squeeze him next to me, tiny as he was, and save myself the embarrassment to ask for a double room when to the eyes of the receptionist I was clearly all alone.

I glanced towards the person in question thoughtfully, and only then did I realize that he was on a completely different page than I was. Samuel took a shaky breath, his eyes filled with unshed tears. The muscles of his little chin were trembling in the most heart-wrecking way.

“Whoa, hey! Sammy…” I murmured anxiously as I kneeled before him. “Hey, relax. It’s going to be fine. We will figure this out, don’t worry!”

My words did nothing to soothe him. The tears spilled down his face, forming two long streams down his chubby cheeks.

“Hey, buddy, don’t cry.” I pleaded, wiping them away. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be okay. It’s just going to take a little bit longer, but we have all the time in the world.

We’ll just have to make them fall in love all over again, no biggie, right? We will break the curse, I promise you. You and me.” I cupped his cheek.

He smiled sadly and took another glance at the clock. “Not you and me.” He muttered. “Just you.”

“You don’t want to help me?” I asked in confusion.

“I do…” He said with a sigh. Then his expression changed. There was a strong sense of urgency when he spoke again. “Harriet, I need you to promise me something. Promise me that no matter what happens to me, you will break this curse. You won’t give up.”

I frowned. “What are you even talking about?”

“Just promise me.”

“Samuel. This is ridiculous, nothing is going to happen to you. I’ll make sure of it, alright? I got you.”

He put his arms on my shoulders, a violent storm bringing the ocean in his eyes into life. “No, you have to promise. Promise me you will break this curse, no matter what.”

His tone was starting to worry me. “I will, only if you promise to tell me what this is all about.”

“Deal.”

“Then okay.” I spat out.

“You have to mean it.”

“I promise.” I vowed with a sigh. “I will do my very best to break this damn curse, no matter what.”

He took a second. Then he nodded. “Okay. Okay, good. Alright…” he muttered to himself, closing his eyes in relief.

“What is it?” I murmured, a bad feeling settling uncomfortably in my chest

He gulped. He bit his lips. His gaze dropped to the ground. When his eyes met mine again, the storm inside them was over, the endless sea finally peaceful. Too peaceful.

“I had a single day to help you break the curse and then I would come back to life and everyone would see me. If I failed I would disappear once and for all.”  
It took me a second to register his words. Register the meaning behind them. And when I did, I felt like the ground was pulled from my feet. “...What?” I managed to spit out, my voice coming out strange to my own ears. I sounded like I was choking. “I don’t... what? What do you mean, that’s not… that’s not true.”

He gulped again.

No. No. This was not happening. I refused to believe what he was saying. I shook my head furiously.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” His little voice broke, and I could almost feel the weight lifting from his shoulder as he finally let the words out. “I didn’t want to pressure you…”

“Pressure me?!” I snapped, pulling away and getting to my feet. I walked a few steps back, pressing my hands to my temples to calm my now raging breathing. I could feel my own body shake in dread.

He simply stood there, in the middle of the room, with his wet cheeks and red nose. So fragile. So small.

So small.

This should never happen. Nobody this small should have to deal with this. It wasn’t fair.

Who could do this to a child? Who would take him away from his parents before he had even gotten the chance to live? Then offer him some hope he can fix it, only to take him away again? And who would take the only person I had ever loved from me? Bring me so close to real happiness I could taste it and then just grasp it away from my arms?  
I felt like God was laughing at me.

“How much time do we have?” I heard my voice say. A weak, pleading whisper.

“Two minutes.”

I couldn’t bear to acknowledge it. My mind shut.

“I’m sorry.” Samuel hiccupped, and the oceans spilled a little more.

And then it all came crashing down. I fell to my knees again, the weight of it all becoming unbearable. I heard them hit hard on the ground, but I didn’t feel the pain. A violent sob wrenched my body. And then another one. And another one. The room began spinning around, the sounds and colors all turning into a wild blur, and I was too weak to do anything about it.

But there was something sticking up from the chaos. Something pulling me back.

Two little hands were wrapped around my neck. His touch so light, feathers and breeze. He buried his head in my shoulder, in my hair.

I felt powerless. Weakest than I had ever been. I could feel him fade away, and there was nothing I could do.

“I’m scared, Hattie.”

The next sob went through us both.

Slowly, my arms rose. They wrapped around his body, sealing around him.

“It’s okay, buddy. I got you.”

He squeezed his arms around my neck. Without thinking about it, I placed a kiss on his cheek.

And the second I did, I felt everything change.

Bewildered by the bubbly, fizzy feeling that suddenly coursed through my body, I was still holding him when the room turned white.

* * *

 

Light. There was so much light, everywhere. Jackson blinked, yet he couldn’t see a thing. But after a few seconds of confusion, gradually, the light faded away. It wasn’t fully gone, however. The sun was shining outside, in contrast to the persistent rain that had been pouring all day.

The warm sunrays glided throw the window blinds into the white hospital room. They tenderly caressed the girl’s cinnamon hair, painting them into shades of autumn. Her face was slightly turned towards it, her cheeks still warm after she had pulled away from his kiss - he hadn’t yet figured out what had come over him, but he wished he could take it back. She hadn’t spoken a word since.

Her position allowed the rays to reach her eyes as well, highlighting that smooth green on the edge, which contrasted so beautifully with the amber color in the middle. He found himself once again captivated by those warm and lively hazel eyes…  
He blinked. April’s eyes.

April…

All at once, everything came back to him. He didn’t expect the string of memories to overflow his mind, and so when they did he let out a loud gasp.

“Me and you”

“I have feelings. I have a lot of them.”

“I want you.”

“Even the things I don’t like, I love.”

“She’s the one.”

“Did I tell you that it’s a boy?”

“He squeezed my finger and then he let go.”

“We have to push, and we have to fight.”

“She’s a miracle.”

In a single second, April’s entire life flashed before her eyes. She sucked in a sharp breath, as the very last memory replayed itself, so vivid she could almost hear the words.

“She will find us.” She vowed. “Just like you always say. If you love them and they love you-”

His lips cut her off, urgent. Demanding. He wasn’t going to spend their last moment together recalling an old saying.

“I love you.” He whispered to her when they broke apart.

“I love you too.” She then smirked. “Even the things I don’t like.”

He looked at her now, relief washing over him. A massive smile covered his entire face at the look of recognition in her widened eyes. Through all the feelings suddenly overcoming him, he managed to raise an eyebrow.

“Those were the last words you wanted me to hear? Really, April?”

Surprised laughter escaped her already open mouth before she threw herself into his arms. “Oh my God!” she cried. “I remember everything! Oh my God, oh God!”

Her scent of fall and apples flooded his mind, the need for her growing so intense he let out a groan. “Fuck, I missed you so much!” he reciprocated with passion. He kissed every part of her face he could reach before his lips finally met hers almost violently.

She held onto him for dear life, her nails digging into the back of his neck.

They were both panting when they broke apart for air. Yet she lost no time to speak.

“We're okay, we’re both okay.” She murmured against him, her voice burning with gratitude, relief, elation.

“She broke the curse.” He breathlessly agreed in fascination.

And then they both suddenly straightened up, as a single name came to overshadow every other thought.

Harriet.

Their heads turned towards the window facing the hallway, so quiet a minute ago, yet now jammed with life.

“Mark?!”

“Lexie!”

Jackson’s eyes briefly shot towards the exchange in shock. Sloan… Lexie… they were alive? He looked around. Shepherd was there. So was Yang. People were running towards each other, hugging, smiling, laughing, reuniting with their loved ones. If he believed in a heaven, it would be this one.

And through the chaos of movement stood out a small piece of stillness. In the middle of the euphoric crowd kneeled a girl, a tiny little boy in her arms.

They both seemed sad to him at first as they held each other on the floor. Only a while later did he realize their tears were those of joy. With a swift move, the girl grabbed the boy and spun him around, placing dozens of small kisses on his cheek, his ear, his hair, everywhere she could reach. The moment seemed so happy he felt like he was invading their privacy.

And then, the girl let the boy slide to his feet, both their expressions now slightly anxious. As of cue, they both turned towards him and his wife. He met their intense gaze.

And then he suddenly knew who they were. He and April both did.

The girl seemed stunned, hesitation written in her wide, hazel eyes.

A brilliant smile formed on the boy’s face.

 _If you love them and they love you, they will always find you_.


	8. Avery Boys by Averysanatomy

“I think I've got all the rooms assigned for the test run.” Owen walked downstairs side by side with the man once his boss, now associate, in the new enterprise. After almost a year of renovation, the Dragonfly Inn was ready to be inhabited. 

“Hit me.” Jackson smiled, cracking his finger and neck joints at once, frowning as he prepared himself to bear with the final details in anticipation of the test run that was the pre-opening launch of the Inn. As much as he had loved setting every detail, seeing his own business reach fruition, making a successful living, he was ready to put hands on work he’d prepared his whole life for, and getting paid for it.

“Torres is in room one, Grey is in two. I put Webber in three, the corner room. The Karevs will go in five, you and Sammy are in six -

“Wait, what happened to four?” As they reached the front desk in the small, wooden lobby, Jackson turned around to face the ginger, frown already set as his mind fast-forwarded to the endless possibilities of problems that could have happened in the last two minutes. He was not that unlucky, _was he?_

“Four is taken.”

“By whom?”

“Friends of mine. Ben and Miranda…”

“Which friends of yours?”

“You said I could invite friends of mine, did you not?” Owen looked down to the tablet in his hand, tapping meaninglessly before taking a deep breath and staring into focused green-eyes. “So, I did that. I invited two of my friends and I put them in room four, and now room four is taken with my friends as you suggested. Any problem with it, Avery?”

“Paw-paw and Chin-Chin cannot come to the test run.” Jackson kept his focused attention on the man, his unblinking stare resonating the firm resolve of his words. 

“Why is that?”

“Because they are dogs, Owen!” Frustrated, but fighting a laugh over the man’s absurdity, Jackson crossed his well-built arms, straightening his back while towering over the other.

“They cannot stay home by themselves! They get lonely and eat expensive British things.”

“Then get yourself a Chow sitter, because room four is for human beings only.” The younger man pointed his index finger towards the other’s chest while turning away to check on the rest of the construction.

“I don't understand why you get to bring Samuel, and I don't get to bring my Chows.” Owen, voice high, still slightly pouting, papers hanging loosely from his right hand, went after the brown man.

“Because I'm mad with power.” Avery got around the other man once again, heading to the fireplace room, acknowledging him only with a sarcastic smile.

“They are cleaner than he is,” the redhead continued, with a lower and spiteful tone. “They are quieter than he is.”

“Stop comparing your dogs to my kid.”

“As much as you love Sammy, that is how much I love Paw-paw and Chin Chin.”

The last phrase made Jackson finally turn around and stare once again at the man, startled at how far he had headed to win the argument and so have his way.

“I gave my genes to him! I watched him growing inside his mother, and nine months and twenty-six hours later, he came out and I was there, waiting to take him home, alone, refusing to give him up to some weird random family!”

“If I could have given birth to them myself, I would have, but I didn't have that choice!”

 “You have to talk to your wife. And put Maggie and Andrew in room four.”

 “You cut me.”

“Okay, so is that it for the rooms?”

“Basically, yes. You and Samuel in six, Kepner in seven.”

“April?” That once again caught the younger man’s interest, even though, for unknown reason, he tried to play it cool. He stopped the reflex action of grabbing the list from the other man’s hand and checking for himself the name written down.

“Yes, April.”

“So, is she coming? April's coming?”

“Is she not supposed to?” It was Owen’s time to smirk teasingly, taking a step closer, encroaching on Jackson’s personal space thereby not leaving him much room to avoid his insinuation and inquisitive questioning. 

“No, no, of course, she was.” Jackson took a step back, fidgeting with his hands for a second before awkwardly smiling while reaching to scratch his bald head, looking down at his feet.” I mean, she was invited quite a while ago ... before anything happened.” He noticed his misstep before hearing Owen’s tongue snapping. That only made him close his eyes and focus on the task at hand. As in running away from the situation. “I mean, I didn't know she was coming, that's all. Okay, so good. April is in room seven. Lucky number seven. Not that it's lucky for April, 'cause I don't know what's lucky for April, okay?”

* * *

 

“Oh, pretty garnish! That's some good mincing there. Just enough walnut. Is that fish done? It should be done. Perfect.” Amelia Shepherd was almost sliding against the ceramic floor, hopping from cook to cook while checking her employee’s abilities, satisfied and proud of the work they were showing.

“Ooh, man, it smells great in here.” The voice that followed a knock on the kitchen’s back door got higher as it turned open, being signaled with the ringing bell over it. Inside came a small redhead, curls bouncing over her back while jumping into her friend’s direction, a huge smile plastered on her cheeks, showing a soft dimple on the left.

“This is the best kitchen staff I've ever had, ever!” The brunette exclaimed, holding the newcomer’s hand and pulling her into a tight hug, before quickly letting her go and linking their arms to now walk together around the place. “I don't know how we got them, but they're amazing! I got to show you this mincing. Seriously…”

“No, no, no, no. I believe you. They seem terrific. But, um, Amelia, so there are seven workers in here, and we're only budgeted for five.”

“I know.”

“Isn’t that a problem?”

“Yes. See, I hired seven, figuring that at least two would crap out, and then we'd have five.”

“And?”

“And none did.”

“So, what will you do?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, maybe the test run will break a couple of them, but if no one quits, honey, you got to fire two of them...” Back at the same place as before, after having made a complete turn around the center island, April finally glanced at her friend’s face, knowing the worried look she would end up seeing as she realized the decisions that had to be made. While at it, though, she remembered, with a hit to her own forehead, the reason she had left her diner almost at lunchtime. 

“Oh! Oh! Amelia, come here.” April pulled the other woman into another hug, stronger if possible, making the brunette chuckle and hold her by the shoulders after some seconds.

“What is that for?”

“In all the craziness, I completely forgot that today is your wedding anniversary.” The redhead was ready for Amelia to smile and jump with her, telling all the planning she probably had made for the day. Instead, she was met with her face only becoming more worried.

“Oh, my god!”

* * *

 

“I can't believe you didn't wake me up.” A boy looking to be on the cusp of manhood but still with the youthful countenance of teenage-dom, walked into the colorful but warm and cozy vintage looking diner. He circumnavigated a path through the mismatched dining tables and chairs, heading straight to the beacon that was an older version of himself.

“Me and what army?” Jackson turned his attention from the counter where a petite redhead wearing an apron stained with the makings of some culinary diner fare, talked to two customers, handing them a plate of freshly made donuts for them to sample.

“I only have so much time off. I don't want to waste it all sleeping until noon.” Samuel sat by his father’ side, not giving any attention to his slight off behavior, ignoring the well-known menu in front of him, only serving to rest his elbows.

“There was no waking you up. You were completely out of it. We're talking Farrah on Letterman… Hey.”

“What?” The change in the tone of his father’s voice finally made the boy focus on him, mimicking his expressionless face, not knowing how else to reply.

“April is coming over here. I want you to pay very close attention.”

“To what?” Samuel quickly looked to his left, trying to catch a bit more on the situation he had just fallen into, only in time to already see the woman approaching the table by his side with a pot of coffee held high by one hand, the other one caringly reaching his shoulder, a welcoming loving smile on her face.

“Shh.”

“Coffee?” She asked, looking down at the boy. Samuel was about to open his mouth when his father again interrupted, this time with a cracking voice that made him sound more a teenager than himself.

“Oh, sure, coffee would be great. Coffee, bud? Yeah, he'll have coffee.” He nodded, lips tight.

“Okay... You want a minute?” Something shifted at April’ smile while shifting her attention to Jackson, a gaze she didn’t keep for long, soon turning back to the boy, this time with a slight blush on her face.

“Yes, a minute would be great.”

“Okay.” She nodded, again shifting looks between the two sitting, stumbling a little before finally walking away, and Samuel could have sworn that her look stayed for a little bit too long for his dad.

“Well?” Jackson nudged the chair the boy was seated on, refocusing his attention.

“What?” Samuel smirked, straightening himself over the table they shared, thinking he had figured out what was happening. Finally!

“You notice anything?”

“Anything?”

“Anything weird, anything different?”

“About April?” He had waited his entire life for the man to grow a pair, watched during his entire childhood this… situation build up. He was not letting his father off so easily.

“No about the tables and chairs … of course about April! Did you notice anything different?” The man was getting exasperated at the lack of insight by his most trusted man.

“Like what?”

“Like a vibe, an attitude. Did she look at me differently?”

“Differently than what?”

“Differently than she did.”

“Differently than she did when?”

“Before.”

“Before what?”

“Before before, Sammy!”

“How on earth can you be frustrated with me right now?”

“Damn. Fine. Come here.” He pulled the boy up and to the glass door by the collar of his shirt, practically tossing him just outside the diner, checking through the window to see if a certain someone was not watching them, finding her distracted with some orders as usual.

“What's your damage, _Heather_?”

“I think I'm dating April.”

“What?” Samuel almost choked on air. Of course, he expected his father to finally realize he had feelings for the closest figure he had to a mother, but to only discover it after it had happened…? He wanted to be a first-hand witness to the moment, now how had he just missed it?

“I'm not sure. It's just a possibility. I could be wrong.” _What?_

“But how? When?”

“I asked her to go with me to Mark and Lexie’s wedding and it was really nice. We had a really good time. We laughed a lot, and we ate, and then we danced.” Jackson shrugged his shoulders, hands in pockets, trying to look nonchalant while staring at the street.

“Danced? How?” Samuel was trying to contain a laugh, as for the first time in his life, he was witnessing his father being awkward about … a romantic prospect?

“We pop-locked.”

“Was it a fast dance, slow dance, flash-mob?”

“It was a slow dance. What is a flash-mob?"

“The hustle, the hora.”

“No hustle, no hora. It was a slow dance -- a waltz. April can waltz.” The man was smirking, a shift in the sparkle of his eye, and Samuel could almost see the memory replaying behind them.

“April can waltz?”

 _“April can waltz.”_ He stared at his son, eyebrows raised, the smirk larger if possible.

“Look how you just said, ‘April can waltz.’ Jackson and April sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G … first …”

“Stop that. What?” he turned defensively, at once resuming his previous pose. “I'm just saying, I'm surprised that April can waltz.”

“That sounded more like, ‘I'm surprised I still have my clothes on,’ dad.”

“Sure.”

“What else happened?” The younger knew that, at this point, if he did not push his dad to keep talking, he would not resume the story and just go back inside. And he would still not know his intentions. At the beginning, he expected the man to be sure of his long-time feelings, but it turned out to be as angst-ridden as a teen dealing with his first crush. Clueless.

“Nothing. We spent the evening together. We danced, I walked her home, then I asked her to a movie. All of these things individually do not add up to dating, but together, I don't know. And there was this moment, when I was walking her, where I thought -- I don't know.”

“Did she say yes?”

“When?”

“To the movie. Did she say yes?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds like dating to me.” Internally Samuel was jumping for joy. His own emerald eyes sparkled with the prospect of April ‘officially’ joining their family, and not only being a constant presence. An always loving, extra seat.

“But maybe she didn't mean it as a date thing. Maybe she just needed to get out of the house, and since I'm currently one of the friends sitting home alone, she accepted.”

And then it hit him. As his father’s face changed to an insecure one, he knew that his dad was being aware of his feelings was not the problem, but the fact that he was scared of it not being reciprocated. Of being wrong. And what made Samuel believe he was not?

His memories all contained April at some point. His childhood was interspersed with images of the redhead making them breakfast, sitting with them, entertaining him while his father went to work, picking him up at school when his dad couldn’t, letting him cry his first heartbreak tears on her shoulder, helping him write valentines cards to a finally successful first date, going to his mid-school, high-school graduations, all birthdays… Every single step of his life, she was there. She was the mother he otherwise was denied. And he knew that the woman who tried to give him up for adoption would have never been as wonderful a mom as April Kepner was. So, what would he do if she ended up not liking his dad? What if she didn’t want to be a grown teenager’s mom … his mom? What if she ended up leaving too?

 “Okay, _whoa_ … this is April.”

“I know.”

“ _Our_ April -- the town’s April. Okay, you know what I mean. Not in the town harlot sense, but…”

“Whoa there buddy, where are you going with this?”

“I mean that she belongs to us, to the town.”

“Where did I go wrong? What have I been teaching you? April is a person, she doesn’t belong to anyone … or too many anyone’s.”

“C’mon dad. You know that’s not what I meant! Anyway. We see her every day. She's a part of our lives.”

“I know.”

“I mean, everyone will know. They'll know if you're together, they'll know if you're not together.”

“I know.”

“And you can't just date April. When you're with April, you are _with_ April. And if it doesn't work out, it will be really bad for both of us. I mean, how do you feel about this? Do you want to be dating April?” Samuel needed to ask. He needed to know. His own heart was at play. He couldn’t deal with not only watching his dad suffer over a failed relationship but also having his family break apart.

“Okay, we're getting ahead of ourselves here.” Jackson held his arms, looking deep into his eyes, a similar shadow of doubt passing across their eyes.” I don't even know if this is what she's thinking. This could be a totally innocent situation, and then we've done all this what-iffing for nothing. Let's just go back in there and see if anything's weird, okay? Everything is fine. This is nothing.” The man forced a smiled, taking a deep breath to compose himself as if the moments before had never existed, Samuel doing the same. If he left the questions aside just for a second, he knew he was sure about where this was heading. 

“Okay.”

* * *

“Two radish roses for a carrot curl?” Jackson raised his chin to take a better look at his son’s plate in front of him. Playing games with words, objects, even food, has always been one of his favorites pastimes instead of wasting the moments that he was forced to spend at the Avery Mansion every Friday night with awkward silence.

“Deal.”

“You're trading garnish?” Catherine stared at both of them from one end of the long table, eyebrows raised as she judged their behavior.

“Yes, but only because the dinner's gross.”

“Very nice,” his mother responded sarcastically. “And don’t say gross.”

“I don't like the rabbit,” Jackson added under his breath while turning a piece with the fork, staring at it from afar.

 “How convenient. You're not eating rabbit.”

“But this is rabbit sauce.”

“It _is_ rabbit sauce,” the peanut gallery chimed in.

“It _is not_ rabbit sauce. Do not tell him that it's rabbit sauce.” Catherine was quite exasperated with the lot of testosterone she was surrounded by.

“It tastes like rabbit sauce to me,” Robert mouthed while chewing his own portion, a sublime expression crossing his features, while indirectly addressing everyone that had just turned to look at him.

“That just goes to show how much attention you give to meals that are prepared for you,” his wife answered, staring daggers at him. How could he still not side with her, while she was the one keeping his life and his house under control?

“If it isn't rabbit, then what is it?”

“It's duck.”

“Oh, well, where's that carrot curl?” Jackson suddenly said, trying to break the tension that had arisen.

“I haven't seen a radish rose,” Samuel added, eyes bulging.

“Never mind. Don't eat it. Sriva, come get the plates. We're done.” Catherine raised her voice slightly at the end, to allow for the maid in the adjacent room to hear and obey her instruction.

“Not everyone is done.” Robert was outraged, as his plate, with his meal not even half eaten, was taken away. Inhaling deeply, almost tossing his white napkin over the wood, he shifted in his seat. “Just bring out the dessert, please,” he requested before turning to address his grandson. “So, Sammy, I was thinking maybe we should go away this summer, just you and me. You should do Europe right at least once in your life, and this seems like the perfect time.”

“Oh, well, Grandpa, I don't really know what I'm doing this summer yet, but that sounds great.”

“And really out of the blue.” It was Jackson’s turn to sound on edge, being caught unexpectedly, knowing how tricky both of his parents could be at the art of manipulating those around them.

“I agree,” Catherine added, feeling not only surprised but cheated. If she needed proof that Robert was excluding her from his life and plans, even after all these years together, this was it. She knew they were going through a rough patch, but not for a moment did she expect them to reach this low point.  “Were you ever going to mention this to me?”

“I just did.”

“No, before you opened the peanuts.”

“Plans aren't made, Jackson. It was just an idea. If Sammy doesn't want to go, then Sammy doesn't have to go.”

“Sammy didn't say he didn't want to go.”

“That's right. Samuel's father was just marveling at the ‘hey, look over here’ approach to the invitation.”

“When is dessert? I have work to do.” The older Avery decided to ignore the entire conversation, rolling his eyes and simply staring at the opposite end of the table, his gaze landing on the only female presence in the room.

“It's coming as quickly as the woman can spoon fruit over ice cream.”

“Well, clearly, she has carpal tunnel or some other modern disease which is slowing her down.”

“If she's going too slow for you, why don't you just go into the kitchen and give her a hand?”

“I forgot to mention…” Jackson again trying to intervene, the growing spat not subtle at all “… we're doing a test run at the Inn this weekend.”

“What?” For the first time, in a couple of months, his parents had the same reaction about something.

“We're inviting all our friends to spend the weekend, just to make sure we're ready to open.”

“Well, that sounds sensible.”

“Hey, you know what would be great? If the two of you came.”

“What?”

“For the weekend.”

“Oh.”

“Well...”

“I mean, I've been working toward this for, my God, what is it, Sammy? About twenty years or thereabouts? Right?”

“Twenty years.”

“Twenty years… So basically, this is the biggest thing that's ever happened to me in my life, except for Samuel being born, and I'm sure my parents wouldn't want to miss it. I mean unless there's some specific reason why you guys can't come, both of you together.” His face kept turning from one to another. What he wanted the most was for them to have the courage to lay their problems on the table at least once. Would it be possible that they would let their marriage of decades be ruined by a lack of communication? As both traded looks over the table, silently agreeing to keep quiet about their secret separation, Jackson decided that he would keep pretending he did not know anything about it. “No? Okay, good, so you'll be there. Isn't that great, Samuel? Grandma and Grandpa are coming to the test run together.”

“Jackson –”

“Dad, seriously, you have no idea how much this means to me.”

“We wouldn't miss it for the world.”

* * *

 

“So, inviting them to stay at the Inn is going to do what, exactly?” After some uncomfortable dessert and coffee, they were finally getting inside the sedan parked in front of the mansion.

 “I'm not inviting them to stay at the Inn. I'm inviting them to stay in the bungalow 150 feet away from the Inn.” Jackson gave his son a knowing smile, eyebrows raised while simultaneously clipping in the seat belt and starting the car.

“Diabolical.”

“I'm going to lock those two in a room, and they are either coming out reconciled or in a body bag. Believe you me, I'm fine either way.”

“Well, look who died and made you Hayley M.”

* * *

“Doubles digits! Oh, my God, I'm kicking your ass!” Arizona exclaimed after having rolled dice drunkenly. Gleefully clapping her hands, she reached out for a glass half full (or half-empty, depending on your perspective) of wine, while April laughed at her antics, but kept a watchful eye all the same at the goings on in the lobby.

It was the first night at the Inn, and everything was going as expected. After arriving in the early afternoon with the group, April was the last one to enter the main building. She spent some time admiring the huge garden overflowing with wildflowers. It seemed to extend all the way to the border of the forest with its multitude of butterflies and the soft sound of hidden crickets. No to mention the barn, which reminded her so much of her own childhood home. Her hidden intention though, was to try to spend a little more time with a certain owner of the building, and not just a quick hello. She was surprised when he was the one to descend the porch stairs to stand at her side, after which he gave her a tour of the property, cracking jokes during the entire excursion, only leaving her at the door to her room. A lovely surprise of a bouquet of the same wildflowers, addressed especially to her, permeated the air with its sweet fragrance.

The rest of the evening passed off fine, until halfway through dinner, when she saw Jackson’s attention shift from the guests he was conversing with to a beautiful woman who had just entered the building. Excusing himself he approached the lone figure and engaged her in conversation. His expression anything but open he didn’t appear too pleased to see her. Although everything appeared circumspect and above board – their exchange far from romantic – upon observation of their interaction, the redhead had an uneasy feeling in her chest.

“Hey, Arizona, who's that?”

“Who's what? Oh, that's Stephanie Edwards. She was Jackson’s girlfriend for the last six months or so.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Not exactly who I pictured him with, but she does have a very nice body.” She winked at her friend, turning in her chair while finishing her drink. “Anyhow, they were hiding their relationship from his parents, 'cause Stephanie was his father's business partner. Well, of course, the Avery’s found out about it, and all hell broke loose. Stephanie wound up suing Jackson's father.”

“They still together?”

 “I don't know. I thought they broke up, but she's here, so maybe? I could ask Callie for you if you want. Sometimes she gets the news first, 'cause her phone line picks up other people's conversations -- something about proximity to the power lines. I tell ya, it’s all about location, location, location.”

* * *

“Hey. Are you okay?” It was even later, and April was expecting to come across Jackson, as he had not gone up the stairs yet. It was not like she had expectations for the night, after the last few weeks, and the fact that he pointed out how their rooms were adjacent to each other. But after helping clean the dining room, she ended up at the entrance, where Stephanie still sat, texting something on her phone.

“Yes. You?” The brunette thumbed off her phone, turning to April with an honest smile.

“Good. I’m April Kepner.”

“Stephanie Edwards.”

“So, I see you had the pot roast.” Sitting next to her after shaking hands, she decided to pry … at least a little bit. It’s not like her heart depended on it.

“Yes… very good.”

“All the food was great tonight. So, Stephanie Edwards… the name is familiar...”

“I'm a friend of Jackson's.”

“Oh, me too! I own the diner in town!” April grinned broadly, her smile huge as she talked about her passion, her accomplishment, what she was most proud of. It had belonged to her parents after they moved them from Ohio to Connecticut during her early-teen years, but she’d turned it into the success it now was, after having inherited it from them.

“Yeah, he's mentioned you.”

“Has he? Well, it's nice to be mentioned.” April allowed a small giggle to escape her and she watched as Stephanie’s expression closed up a bit. Deciding to keep digging, she cleared her throat, avoiding eye contact. “So, uh, you know Jackson from where?”

“Actually, we're dating.” Stephanie declared decisively, staking a prior claim. In any way, April felt her chest tightening, her insecurities coming to the fore. She became convinced that Jackson’s actions towards her were mere acts of friendship and that she, being needy and alone, must have read more into it than was intended.

“You're dating?”

“Going on six months.”

“You're dating now?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh sorry, my mistake. I thought you two had, uh –”

“Well, we hit a rough patch, but we're working through it.”

“Well, good for you.”

“When it's right, it's right, and Jackson and I are right.”

“That's great. I'm very happy for you.” April nodded, holding her own hands in her lap, not wanting to let tears form behind her eyes because of her own stupidity. She was not even able to keep looking at the other girl, feeling guilty she was in love with her… boyfriend, she guessed.

“Thank you. You have any idea where the ladies room is?”

“It's back through the dining room.”

“Thanks, it was nice meeting you.”

“Sure, you too.” She only nodded her goodbye, watching with her peripheral vision the other woman leaving. As a physical reflection of her inner heartache, she pantomimed drying non-existent tears. She also decided to get up, but to head not to her room in the Inn, but to her own place, as she did not want to spend more time in the same building as the man she had feelings for. Feelings so strong that she was about to commit an idiot’s mistake.

“Hey. The last one up?” Her hand was almost on the handle when the husky voice startled her, the resonance causing her to jump slightly. April had expected to have to dodge him, at least during the days following, now having no choice but to face Jackson immediately. And directly.

“No, not the last one.”

“You okay? I heard Arizona was kicking your butt at Yahtzee.” She turned towards the sound of firm steps approaching her and the mere sight of him, in such an enclosed space, made her heart accelerate. The reflective light of his eyes gave them an otherworldly look, and his unflinching gaze appeared to impress upon the subject of his attention that he could read that mind and deepest, darkest secrets. Even with his hands in the pockets of his pants, she could feel his arms around her, body cornering her, giving her no space to think, to breathe. His unique scent seemed to surround her too, even in her dreams. But she needed to wake the heck up. Because looking behind him, she could still see the chair in which Stephanie had been sitting mere moments before, the empty seat taunting her accusingly. Her eyes drifting from his all-seeing, all-knowing sight orbs she gave a dry laugh, crossing her own arms, trying to put some space between them. He had a girlfriend, and he would never see her as more than a friend. Perhaps even as a sister, who knew. Shaking her head at her own wild thoughts, she laughed once again, staring at her own feet.

“Actually, I'm feeling pretty stupid right now.”

“Why?” He stopped immediately, voice filled with concern and confusion, head tilted slightly, trying to catch her attention.

“I'm not a weird woman, am I?” She startled him, with both the impatience in her voice and the stare filled with hurt. Of course, her behavior was different than earlier, so he thought he might have scared her with his approaches. Maybe she needed space. But not in any way had he expected this kind of an answer. All he feared hearing was that she was interested in another guy, or that said guy had broken her heart. At the same time, he knew that if she needed a shoulder to cry on, he would never deny his. After pummeling the one who hurt her. A couple of times. Many couples of times.

“Well, the wardrobe's a bit of a head-scratcher.” He tried to make her laugh, he knew how she loved to hate his jokes and making her a little bit happy in the mix wouldn’t hurt. But all he saw in her eyes was more anger.

 “I thought you had been very, very clear about your intentions –” April started, her arms shaking as she started to walk around the room, back to him.

“My…” _What had he done wrong?_ He needed to know the reason why he would be punching himself to death. He also thought his intentions were clear, but she didn’t make it sound like _that_ was the problem. She didn’t make sense at all.

“You know, the wedding, the movie invite, the flowers…?” Yes, _exactly_!?

“April…” _What is going on?_

“And you knew what I was doing!”

“Well, no, not officially.” _What were you doing? What is happening?_

“Not officially? Oh, come on.” She gave up. Suddenly she was bursting through the door, mentally-laden steps carrying her down the porch stairs, where they’d met earlier in the day, a lifetime ago. He was almost on the stairs when she turned around, climbing back up until she was right in front of him, eyes filled with anger and… some other nameless emotion he couldn’t define. “I mean, I didn't have a ref present, but other than that.”

“Well, you didn't say anything official.” Jackson was too confused to say anything else. She was fighting with him because he had done things but not… more things? If they were both making moves on each other, why would she be fighting with him? “And what was I supposed to say? I did things. I let my actions speak. That's what you're supposed to do. You’re supposed to let your actions speak. That's the romantic way to do this, damn it.” And now he was screaming back at her. Damn it, Avery.

“And I went along with all of it.” And she can get louder… “So naturally, I assumed we were on the same page, and then your girlfriend shows up here at the Inn that I invested in…"

“Whoa, wait, w… what girlfriend?” _What is happening?_

“Are you talking about Stephanie?”

“No, Maggie. Of course, Stephanie.”

“You guys were talking?” _Didn’t she leave?_ “What did she say?”

“She said you were together. I mean, I was sitting there listening to this girl go on and on about how it's right, you're right, she's right. The whole time, I'm thinking, ‘What the hell have I been doing all this for? He's taken.’ You’ve made a cheater out of me.”

 “I'm not taken! We broke up!”

“Well, she obviously doesn't know that!” April started to laugh again, all the while fighting tears. What was she supposed to believe? And if they were indeed not together, what was she going to do with the information, now that everything was out in the open? Now that she had poured her heart out to him. Now that she screwed it all up.

“April, please, just calm down!”

“I don't want to calm down!” The redhead started to make a move as if she was going to leave again, gesticulating in the air, furious at herself. “I did everything right! I did exactly what the book said!”

“The book?! What book?”

“I thought we were on track, and now you're standing there looking at me like I'm crazy.”

“I'm not looking at you like you're crazy!” _What?_

“You know the last time someone bought flowers for me? Never! That's when! Very easy stat to remember!”

“I loved giving you the flowers!” _Can you just stop and understand that?_

“And then when you walked me home after the wedding, there was a moment. I thought there was a moment.” And then there she was, right in front of him, looking into his eyes with desperation behind hers, as if she wanted to hear how it was all a product of her imagination. As if she couldn’t fathom the reality that everything could work out in the end. That those two persons that have met in a small town in the middle of nowhere, in the weirdest of circumstances involving coffee and horoscopes, could be perfect for each other. That she made him believe in Stars Hollow. That he looked at her and loved her. Even the things that he didn’t like, he loved. How could he make her believe in herself enough to believe in his devotion for her?

“There was… There was a moment.” _There is_ … He stepped closer to her, trying to memorize her expression in the moment his hands reached for her face, tucking a loose strand of red hair behind her ear and holding onto her face at the same time. As he started to move his face towards hers, as if she had just woken from a dream, she took a step away, staring at him with large surprised eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“Will you just stand still?” Jackson laughed, holding her face again, but this time not giving her time to think too much, sealing their lips with a soft kiss, letting his lips taste hers for the first time, deciding that they were better than his mind could have conjured. April tasted like coming home. After a moment, he decided to let her go, for she also needed to make a decision. He had done all in his power, and could only hope it would work. When she moved towards him and then held his face in her hands, getting closer, it was his time to take a surprised step back.

“What are you doing?”

“Will you just stand still?”

And when April was the one to kiss his lips, she felt her heart accept her fate. That she was not crazy, that she was not imagining things, and that all the past eighteen years of her life finally made sense as she realized that the uncomfortable feeling was simply fear of accepting this thing between them. What they somehow already knew had been growing from the moment of its conception. Merely scared of how much they had come to love each other and the life they could build together. As they embraced each other, deepening the kiss, the only certainty they had was that, in one way or another, whatever life threw at them, they would never be apart from each other’s lives. And if that wasn’t what soulmates were, she didn’t know what was…


	9. One Night by Japril12

April raised her glass in the air along with all her family and friends as Alex finished the end of his speech. Clapping her free hand against her wrists to give them a round of applause. Although, somewhat crass, with a few jokes thrown in here and there Alex’s speech did come from the heart.

She couldn’t believe that her older brother was finally getting married since he always claimed that a life with a wife and kids wasn’t something for him, especially after Lexie broke things off with him, but here he was a year later in London set to be married to Julia and happier than ever. April clandestinely wished that Lexie and Mark would eventually find their way back to each other, but maybe this was for the best. If they were meant to be then it would happen on its own.

Jackson tapping on his glass brought her out of her head. She lifted her head to give him her full attention like the other guests and smiles when he starts.

“I won’t take up too much of your time everyone but as the best man I’m obligated to say something tonight,” Jackson gave the couple a quick grin before turning to all the other guests.

“Don’t make me look bad,” Mark called out, one arm slung around the back of his fiancée’s chair.

“That won’t be too hard.”

Mark faked a hurt expression and Julia rubbed his arm soothingly. 

“Okay, okay but seriously I just wanted to say something before tomorrow. I’ve known Mark since college and he never told anyone this but he had always wanted a family of his own and once he met Julia and I knew that they were perfect for each other. Their commitment to one another is an inspiration”

April regarded them with a hopeful expression. She loved seeing Mark so happy and maybe someday she would have that kind of love in her life too.

“So, if you would please join me in raising a glass to Mark and Julia,” he picks up his champagne flute, lifting the glass in the air with everyone in a toast. “May their love never waver.”

April set her glass down and took her seat at the table again. If was the first toast she didn’t know how’d she would handle tomorrow. It was only the rehearsal dinner and she was tearing up already.

“Don’t tell me it was that bad,” Jackson sat down beside her and nudged her bare arm with his elbow.

“No, no it was beautiful,” April praised and he ducked his head. “I never knew you were so sentimental, Jackson.”

Jackson sipped from his glass and scoffed. His eyes scanned the restaurant, watching everyone mingle and occasionally pass by Mark and Julia and offer their congratulations. “I am not.”

“Uh huh,” April nudged him back making him smirk. He could lie to everyone else but not to her.

He doesn’t say anything more, letting her have her fun, they sit and talk at their table for a few more minutes until another guest, an older man dishevelled looking man, approached them.

“I just want to say that Mark is a wonderful person.” He told them.

“Thanks, we like him,” April said smiling brightly.

“My word!” he regarded April in astonishment. “You must have been a teenager when you had him.”

The man turned and made his exit as Jackson watched her face crumple. He knew that she was so happy for her brother finding love but he wondered if she was completely fine with her being compared to him making it down the aisle and her still being single. He hoped that she wouldn’t let it bother her but she tended to overanalyse things. “April, don’t –”

April downed her glass of champagne and left the table. “Where’s the bar?”

* * *

 

He managed to get April away from the bar and convinced her to take him back to the hotel room. The wedding was tomorrow and if she got completely plastered the night before she’d regret it. 

“April, that guy was crazy and drunk off his ass,” Jackson protested as they walked side by side, they’d just gotten off the elevator and were turning down the hall. “And I’m 100 percent sure he just walked in from another event room.”

“I’m gonna die alone and childless,” April stated dejectedly, she knew that Jackson was trying to make her feel better and maybe he was right but it wasn’t helping her. Even if the man was drunk his comments still made her feel bad.

“No, you’re not April,” Jackson denied.

They were all moving on in some way. Mark had Julia and back home he and Callie were expecting a child soon. The situation would be complicated to most people but they were making it work. Callie was in her final trimester of pregnancy so couldn’t travel with them to London. But Arizona was taking good care of her at home.

She had a great job and amazing friends but what was so wrong with wanting something more with someone special. April wanted that too and she was afraid that she was too scared and being too patient, just waiting for some guy to finally pick her. Nobody ever picked her.

April slowed her pace as they reached the door to Jackson’s room. It was much too early to go to sleep and she was sure that she must have ruined the night for him. “I’m sorry I just feel like – Is there something wrong with me?”

He used his card to open the door and he left it to open slightly. Jackson placed both his hands on her arms, running them up and down her skin to soothe her. He tilted his head as he gazed down at her and spoke purposefully. “I promise April, nothing is wrong with you. I mean who wouldn’t want you.”

The atmosphere shifted between them in that moment and her breath caught in her throat with the way he was looking at her. Jackson knew her better than anyone and he always knew how to calm her down. She doesn’t even think about it, acting impulsively for the first time in her life. She reached up on her toes so she could press her lips to his.

Jackson dropped back in surprise, but his hands automatically moved from her arms to her waist holding her tightly. Her hand gripped his shoulder for support while and her other arm looped around the back of his neck. Her lips glide over his seamlessly, pliant and soft and when she slipped her tongue out he complied, opening his mouth to taste her and released a low groan, tightening his hold on her.

Her head arched up to meet him as they continue to kiss outside his room. The hallway is empty but anyone could walk by and see them but April didn’t care. She wanted this too badly.

“Mm, April we should… the way you’re kissing me right now,” Jackson muttered with his mouth against hers, failing to come up with an excuse to stop her. He should stop her. She’s a virgin, and they were friends, and it would be so inappropriate. But it felt so good. “We shouldn’t…”

He knew they should stop but he didn’t want to and by the way, she was kissing him it was clear she didn’t want to either.

“Why not? I want you,” April whispered and brushed her lips across his once more before pulling back to observe him.  Jackson’s eyes were half-lidded and his nostrils were flared.

He clenched his jaw, feeling tingles on his skin at her words, he’d never expected her to say that and he never expected it to turn him on so much either. “I thought that you wanted to wait.”

“I was waiting for it to feel right. This feels good. It feels right,” April explained resting her forehead against his. She cupped his face and kissed him again, smiling into it when he reciprocated. “If you want me to stop, Jackson, just tell me to and I’ll stop.”

“Jackson, it’s okay. Really,” she told him and he smiled. He kissed her again while lifting her, walking them into his room and kicking the door shut with his foot.

* * *

The next morning April’s eye’s fluttered open, awakened by the sounds of light traffic coming in through the open window. She stretched her arm out and tried to roll over under the thick covers but was hindered by a warm, hard body tucked snugly around hers. She laid on her side and bent her neck so she could look at him. He was still asleep, unbothered and peaceful. She’d never seen him like this, just like last night.  When he had looked at her with so much passion she didn’t even know how to describe it.

One of his legs slipped between hers and he tightened his hold on her, muttering into her hair, the red strands tickled his nose as he spoke. “Go back to sleep.”

She laughed tiredly, not realising he had awakened and lightly stroked his bicep. “Hey,”

“Mornin’,” Jackson replied, his voice thick. “Sleep.”

“We have to be up soon,” April said but all he did was grumble and press himself further into her back, tightening his hold on her. She tried to ignore his erection pressed against her side. They probably wouldn’t get a moment alone again all day.

“Remind me why again?”

“We flew halfway across the world to see my brother, your best friend, get married.” He finally opened his eyes too and stroked her cheekbone with his thumb. “We can’t stay in this bed all day.”

“You’re my best friend,” he argued not making any move to get up and she laughed at him.

He knew that she was right, they did have to leave the room and get ready for the wedding but he wanted to stay here with her. Jackson rested his weight on his elbow and leaned down to overlap his lips with hers, in a soft kiss. She responded eagerly to him, opening her mouth and tracing her tongue over his.

She was about to agree with him and suggest that maybe they should stay in bed a little longer but a loud banging on the door.

“Avery, get up I’m getting married today!” Mark shouted excitedly, opening the door just as April ducked under the covers. He stood in the doorway but pumped his fist in the air, full of energy. He whooped loudly before closing the door.

“Did you think he knew I was here?” she asked still hiding and Jackson flopped onto his back.

* * *

Lexie dragged her suitcase behind her as she hurried down the terminal. It skidded along the floor, she has been meaning to get the wheel fixed on it for some time and since she wasn’t going to Mark’s wedding originally. It would be weird, they had too much history for her to pretend that she was completely fine seeing him walk down the aisle and pledge to be with another woman for the rest of his life. She had decided to let him go for good, but that was no less than three hours ago.

At this moment in time Lexie was huffing like a mad woman and running through Seattle-Tacoma International trying to get on the first flight out to England. It wasn’t until she had stopped avoiding her feeling and using excuses that she realised that she was still in love with Mark. 

Callie had said that they all knew and talked about it all the time. How could they do that and not tell her?

She never packed a bag so fast and Callie wouldn’t be alone because Arizona was back at the apartment too.

“When is your next flight to London?” Lexie uttered, placing a hand on the counter to get her breathing under control.

The woman behind the counter regarded Lexie with wide eyes before she spoke. She clicked at the keyboard and read from the screen. “There’s one leaving in 20 minutes. And there’s one seat left.”

Lexie tilted her head back, relieved. “Oh, that’s great!”

“Last minute fare on this is $2700.”

Her face fell but then she quickly searched in her bag her purse and passed black card over. Her father had given her it when she got married to a much younger woman after her mother had passed. It grossed her out that her step mother was only six years older than her and she had never used the card, but now was a great opportunity to do so.

“That’s great all I need is your passport and you’ll be ready to board.” She said happily and Lexie smiled to herself as she rooted around for her documentation but all she could find at the bottom of the bag were a few old receipts and a travel brush.

She sighed and leaned forward on the desk. “Alright, so I don’t have my passport but we could make a deal.”

“I need to get on that plane.” Lexie planted her elbow on the table and tried to look as persuasive as possible, she took out her wallet and slid her hospital ID and a $20 bill on the table. “I’m a doctor at Seattle Grace Hospital and I can get you anything you want.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know plastics surgeons, they’re amazing, they could do work on you. Pro bono even!” Lexie offered.

“You think I need plastic surgery?!” the woman scoffed, clearly insulted.

“Oh, you think- I d-didn’t mean that you…you have it all…” Lexie trailed off, blathering unwittingly. She hadn’t meant to insult her but the stress of maybe not getting to Mark in time must have been affecting her senses.

The woman gave her a look of disdain and passed her bribe back to her while shaking her head.

* * *

Jackson dried himself off with a towel as he got out of the shower. He was still in his hotel room but was getting ready for the wedding. April had left a few minutes after Mark had given them such as close call of a wakeup call.

After shaving, he put on a custom robe and walked out of the bathroom to get dressed. The door swung open again and he almost thought it was Mark coming in to shout at him again but it was just Alex.

“Man, I love weddings.” He announced. Jackson noticed that he was still in his clothes from the night before and raised his brows.

“Just getting in?”

“I was with one of the bridesmaids, Jo” he explained, flopping onto the bed. “British chicks are hot.”

Jackson chuckled under his breath as he pulled his jacket out of the black cover bag.

“Where did you and April disappear of to last night?”

“Huh?” Jackson dropped his tie on the floor and tried to make his voice flow naturally. “I was- wasn’t with April.”

Alex sat up on the bed and regarded him suspiciously. He didn’t know was why he was acting so strange. It was just a question. “I saw you guys leave together.”

“Oh, well, you know we came together,” Jackson said before rethinking his words. “I mean we were tired and today’s a big day.”

After running back home and getting her passport, Lexie had endured almost a full day of travelling and dealt with an incredibly nosy fellow passenger but she had arrived at her destination. She paid the cab driver, she made to enter the old, gothic-style church. It was still early so the guests hadn’t arrived yet.

She loved him and was ready to lay it all on the table. She wanted the same things he did, it took her a little more time to realise it but it was better late than never. They could make it work; they were meant to be.

Lexie pushed the wooden door open, making a direct beeline toward the back rooms, to where Mark could possibly be waiting.

“Wow, you look beautiful,” she heard his voice but couldn’t see him.

Lexie slowed her pace and stood by the door, it was only open by a few centimetres but she could make out the back of Mark’s head. He was dressed in a black tux without the jacket and the tie slightly loose around his neck.

“Mark!” that was Julia. “What are you doing in here? It’s bad luck to see him before the wedding.”

“I know but I couldn’t wait to see you. I can’t wait for you to become my wife.”

She stopped listening, not being able to bear to watch them embrace. What was she doing here? Did she really expect him to just drop everything and come running back to her?

“Lexie?” Mark said with a confused smile. She hadn’t noticed that she left the room. He paused before going up to her and taking her hand. It was such a familiar action, for him to always be touching her, but now it just made her despondent. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I just came to,” she reached out and ran her finger over his vest and gave him a watery smile. “I wanted to tell you that I…congratulations.”

She had to let him go.

Not to long after, Lexie was sat with the other guests in the church as the music played as the wedding party entered. She was seriously underdressed but at least she wasn’t breaking down crying at the scene in front of her: Mark Sloan marrying someone else.

“I can’t believe that happened last night,” Jackson lied as they walked down the aisle arm in arm.

“Right?” April pretended, scoffing for good measure but she feels her face warm up even at the mentioning of it. “And this morning.”

“It was so inappropriate,” Jackson said, his eyes roving over the dip in the back of her red dress.

“I have no idea what came over us.” April whispered in agreement.

Jackson nodded to himself and then glanced her way. “So, I’m coming over tonight?”

“Definitely,” she breathed as they parted.

“Friends, family are gathered here today to celebrate the joyous union of Mark and Julia,” the priest began but a phone ringing interrupted him.

Alex muttered an apology and grabbed his phone out of his pocket, backing away slightly. He watched the screen with confusion and pressed accept. It was a request to FaceTime. “Hello?”

“Alex, what took you so long?” he sees Callie laying back in a chair in her apartment. Her swollen bely peeking out from her top.

“Torres? What the hell?” he asked. “We’re in the middle of the wedding.”

“Oh good, then I haven’t missed anything. Hold me up so I can see.”

Alex rolled his eyes but did as she said, ignoring the annoyed stares from the others. The priest sighed before carrying on.

“Now Mark repeat after me: I, Mark…”

Mark held Julia’s hands as he repeated the words. “I, Mark…”

“Take thee Julia.”

“Take thee Lexie.” Mark uttered and then realised his mistake as Julia practically stared daggers into him.  “Ah! Julia. I meant Julia.”

Everyone watched on awkwardly as the wedding continued despite such a major flub. As the march music played Mark reached for his wife’s hand but she firmly kept them at her sides. The turned to exit and everyone else followed them out.

“Alex, have you seen- what are you doing?” April stopped short when she realised that he had his head pressed against the door. “Is Mark in there?”

He shushed her and pressed his ear against the door harder. “Yes, and if you keep yapping on then I won’t be able to hear anything they’re saying.” He took his face away for moment and said, “Looks like the honeymoon is on hold.”

Their voices grew louder, angrier but that was mostly Julia and April gave Alex a look, unimpressed. She opened her mouth to say something to him. This wasn’t the time to be making jokes.

“What is he doing?” Jackson approached, holding a small plate of food, with Lexie beside him.

April sighed. “He’s listening in on the demise of my brother’s marriage and its only been an hour.”

“Oh!” Lexie slipped past Jackson and April and crouched down next to Alex by the wall.

She glanced at all of them and folded her arms. “You guys, we shouldn’t be listening to this, it’s a private conversation. They need space right now.”

“I think the only person they need space from right now, is this one.” Alex reminded them, jutting his head over to Lexie who had her ear still pressed against the door, making Jackson choke laughing on his food.

April nudged her elbow into Jackson and he used his free arm to rub his side.

Mark emerged from the room a few seconds later with his face flushed while smoothing down his tie. “Hey, what are you guys doing standing here?”

April patted his arm and spoke softly. “Mark, you don’t have to entertain us, work things out with Julia”

“Work things out? We’re fine, April.” Mark opened the door and called into the room. “I love you!”

“Go to hell!” Julia snapped, pushing the door closed.

“She’s just tired,” Mark said lamely. He clapped his hands together and forced a winning smile onto his face. “You guys, this is a party why is no one dancing? Alex, dance!”

“Dude,” Alex scrunched his face up and shook his head.

Mark gave up on that just and went to go talk to his parents and the others dispersed to try and enjoy what was supposed to be the reception for the happy couple.

* * *

“Jackson, where are we going?” April asked and he can hear the smile in her voice but doesn’t answer her. They’d been trying to sneak away for the past hour but hadn’t been successful until now.

He stopped by the last door, pushing it open and pulling her by the hand into the room. A bathroom to be specific. He kisses her senseless, her head tipping back as he swept a hand through her hair and she released a surprised moan.

She pulled him closer by the jacket of his suit and felt him reach around her to twist the lock on the door. He gathered the skirt of her dress in his hands, sinking his fingers into her upper thighs.

“I missed you,” he groaned into her skin, leaving her lips and pressing his hot, open mouth on her neck.

“It’s been hours,” April corrected, gasping when he bit down on her shoulder. She brought his face back to hers and kissed him sweetly. “No marks”

“You weren’t saying that last night,” he smirked, watching the light blush spread on her cheeks.

“Shut up.” She told him, cupping the back of his neck and to silence him with a kiss.

But just as he dipped his hand inside her underwear, there was a loud knocking on the door.

“Hey!” a man shouted. “Open the door. I gotta take a leak.”

* * *

“Okay, so this is a room where definitely no one will interrupt us,” Jackson said as he pushed the door open. They were still in the hotel where the reception was being held, but it had ended much earlier than planned due to the disaster that was Mark and Julia’s wedding. Mark was probably off somewhere doing damage control and Julia was busying not being receptive to it.

“I don’t know about this Jackson,” April stepped into the room, brushing her hand over the bedspread. It was decorated to exude romance; indicated by the candles and the rose petals on the bed.

“Wait, so you’d do it in the men’s bathroom but not on a perfectly useable bed?” he came up behind her and rested his head on her shoulder, one of his hands covering her stomach. “That’s kind of freaky, April.”

She smacked him on the arm but let her pull her body into his. He settled his hands on her waist this time as she looked up at him.

“It just feels wrong, this was supposed to be for someone else.” April explained. It probably wasn’t the best idea to have sex here, no matter how much they wanted too. “

She glanced over at the door, no one was going to use this room but it still felt like they were intruding in some way. When she locked eyes with Jackson again he was studying her with a familiar hunger.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She whispered.

 “April, this is the honeymoon suite, the room was meant for sex,” Jackson reasoned, his voice low and persuasive. “It was built for couples to have sex, amazing sex. And we have amazing sex. If we didn’t it would waste the purpose of the room.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” April grabbed him by his tie, no longer needed to be convinced.

He slipped his hands down the small of her back, making work of unzipping the dress just as the door to the outside of the suite sprung open and they quickly had the sense of mind to break away from their embrace.

“Julia! Julia,” Mark called out, a second later he was in front of them looking dishevelled.

“Nope, sh-she’s not in here!” Jackson blurted out, scratching his head. This was the second close call they had with him today.

“Oh, you haven’t found her?”  April stepped aside, a hand to her chest.

“No and I’ve looked everywhere.” Mark replied exhausted. He’d discarded his suit jacket and ran his hand through his hair.

“I think you should keep trying.” Jackson put his arm around Mark and sighed sympathetically.

“Yeah, don’t give up.” April comforted him, rubbing her hand on his shoulder. She looked over that Jackson as she spoke. “Keep trying for say 20 minutes.”

Jackson offered with his eyebrows raised. “Or 40?”

“Hey, in that time you could find her twice.” April laughed a little too hard causing her to give Mark a confused squint.

“No, you know what I’ve been running around here this whole time. What if she’s been searching for me but I kept moving around. No, I’m staying right here.”

Mark sat on the bed and set his palms on his knees. He just needed to talk to her and straighten things out.

“Oh,” April and Jackson shared a glance and then edged closer to the door. “Well, we’ll get out of your hair.”

“No, wait, can you guys stay?” Mark asked quietly. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“I don’t know,” April said. “We’ve got to catch that flight back to Seattle in the morning and…”

“But we can stay with you…”  April nudged Jackson over so they could each take a seat on the bed beside Mark. 

He smiled and put an arm around each of them, not noticing their discomfort. “You guys are the best.” 

* * *

A little over seven hours later, April, Jackson and Alex were on the plane flying over the Atlantic on their way back home. April and Jackson had stayed with Mark all night and he was the only one who had gotten some sleep, he would need it because he had decided to stay back to try and work things out with Julia. He begged her parents to tell him where she was hiding out after she had fled the reception.

April hoped something good would come out of this and as she felt Jackson’s gaze on her she decided that maybe some already did.

Although, nothing much that happened once they left his hotel room, every chance they were alone on the trip something or someone had gotten in the way.

“You’re quiet”

“Oh, I am?” April turned her face towards his. “Just tired I guess… and thinking.”

“Me too. I wanted to talk to you about that…” Jackson he fidgeted with his hands, adjusting and readjusting the fold-down table on the chair in front of them. This whole thing had thrown him for a loop, if someone had told him that during this trip he’d have trouble keeping his hands of April, Jackson would have laughed in their face.

He didn’t notice that he left a plastic cup on the surface, it got squashed between the chair and hinges of the table. The crunching sound of the plastic immediately got his attention, scrambling to fix the pull it out before the contents spilled on the floor.

“Oh shoot,” April took hold of the cup, reaching out for some napkins to clean up the mess. Her hand brushed over his arm as she leaned over the arm rest and laughed unbelievingly. “How did you do that?”

“I have no idea,” he chuckles and thanked her when she wiped his hands.

“So, um what were you’re thoughts?” April asked after clearing her throat, removing her hands from his.

“Yeah, I just can’t not think about it.” He began and waited to gauge her reaction. She had been more than willing earlier but with all the chaos that happened at the wedding and getting interrupted multiple times could have led her to rethink things.

“We were away, in a foreign country and got caught up. So, we remember that it happened.” He whispered. “And make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

April nodded. Maybe that night was just supposed to remain there back in London but that didn’t mean she couldn’t find a way to work around it. “Right, once we’re back home. No sex.”

“Agreed.” Jackson said and then re-thought her words. They weren’t in Seattle yet. He eyed her mouth and her lips were pulled up in a subtle smirk.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” April whispered in his ear before she stood. “I’ll see you there.” 

* * *

“Oh, you’re are finally back!” Callie waddled over once the door opened to greet her friends. Initially, she was upset that she wasn’t going to make it to her best friend’s wedding but considering that said best friend was the reason she was in the third trimester of pregnancy and couldn’t travel she decided that it was his fault anyway.

“Is Mark okay? What happened with him and Julia?” she asked anxiously.

“We left him at the airport, he asked Julia’s parents to let him know he’s waiting for her so they can go on their honeymoon.” April

“I can’t believe he said the wrong name.”

“Ha! I can.” Alex left his suitcase by the door and went straight to the fridge. Even though, he lived across the hall it never stopped him from eating from his friends. “As soon as Lexie showed up I knew.”

Alex tossed a bottle of water at Jackson, he caught it easily and leaned against the counter.

“The only thing you knew was that bridesmaid’s ass the whole weekend.” Jackson stated after taking a sip from the bottle. All Alex did was point a finger his way with no shame whatsoever.

“You ready to go,” Arizona entered just then from the bedroom carrying a small bag. “Hey, guys.”

Arizona approached her with arms outstretched to embrace April but stopped midway. “Oh my gosh. You had sex!”

April scratched the back of her neck and cleared her throat.  She saw Jackson duck his head to hide his smirk. “What? I- Arizona I didn’t have sex.”

“Really? I must be losing my touch.” Arizona tilted her head and shrugged. “But I’m glad you guys are back, I’m really sorry about Mark.”

“I’m gonna go say hi to the dog,”

“Me too,”

“Why would you need to say hi to him you’ve been taking care of him for the past three days,”

Arizona and Callie turned to each other before looking at Alex. “Yeah, that’s right. See ya.”

They flew out the door a second later with Alex following hot on their heels, slamming the door behind them.

Jackson ran a hand over his head as he watched April rest her back on the edge of the couch.

“Well, we’re finally alone.”

“Yeah. Good thing we established the rule.” Jackson stood up and slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

“Right, right. The rule,” April reiterated, clasping her hands together. “You know, since we’re talking about that I just – I just wanted to say that night meant a lot to me and I’m glad that it was you.”

He was her best friend and even though she had always thought that the moment she lost her virginity would be this big, life changing, defining moment and it wasn’t. She wasn’t someone’s wife but she was still April and she was okay with that. That night would always be really special to her. The way he made her feel changed her.

“I guess I’m just trying to say thanks.”

“You know, that night meant a lot to me too,” Jackson began after a moment. “And not because it was my first time or anything, you were very, um very…I mean it was,” he emphasised with his hands vividly and she laughed.

“Thank you,” April laughed. She looked down at her shoes then back at him.

“So, I’ll see you later?” he told her edging closer to the door.

“Yeah, definitely,”

He walked back towards the door and opened it but popped his head back in at the last moment. He gave her on last look and bit his lip. “Bye.”

The door closed but that didn’t stop April from taking a few steps towards it. She shook her head and turned on her heel.

But the door opened as soon as it shut and Jackson was standing in front of her again. But he opened his mouth, looking like he was about to speak but quickly stepped back and shut it.

April didn’t even have the chance to move before the door opened again.

“I’m still on London time!” Jackson announced, a little breathless. “Does that count?”

“Oh, you bet it counts.” April ran up to Jackson and let him swoop her into his arms. He captured her lips in a kiss and she melted into him. This was probably against the rules but when something felt so good, it couldn’t be bad, right?


	10. Happy Pills and Razor Blades by MelMel1234

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Self-harm and Suicide

He feels her pressed against him the moment he wakes up. He also feels his body pulsing, pain in every muscle and bones aching. He manages to open his eyes. Small slits looking out into the pale darkness.

_Where was he?_

There was a steady beep, soft sounds of feet hitting porcelain floors, whispers in the hallways, some urgent, some lacklustre.

_Where was he?_

He feels movement next to him and he opens his eyes fully, turning his head to his side. There she was. April. He didn't think he'd see her again. But here she was. Curled up against him, almost in a foetal position. Her head tucked under his armpit, her hands laced around her bent knees, pressing against his torso. He marvelled at how small she was, at how perfectly she fit in his creases.

He concentrated on her face. She had been crying. Her face was red, puffed up. There were notable lines of rundown mascara on her cheeks, and she looked tired. So tired. His instinct was to hold her, comfort her. He didn't know what was wrong. Why was she sad? She didn't deserve to be sad. No one did, really.

He noticed that her eye was twitching subconsciously. There was a single curl that had fallen on her face, on her eyelid, that she was sleepily attempting to push away. He remembers how they feel against his face. He never felt an inclination to push them away. There was something comforting about the softness of her hair on his rough skin, especially when they grazed the lines on his arms. They reminded him why he stopped himself from going too far, every time.

He attempted to bring his arm up to her face, brush away the curl when he realised his arms were restrained. He pulled, pulled, but they weren't coming off. What? Why? Where was he? Suddenly the room jumped into view. There was a clinical coldness about it, and loud. So loud. No longer were there quiet whispers, but loud noises. Like the voices in his head that told him, he was worthless, stupid, not good enough, never good enough. Loud. Pounding. Insistent. He felt his breathing quicken, his heart pounding erratically in his chest. He was going to die. He had to get out, or he was going to die.

He pulled roughly at the constraints, feeling them rub against his skin. There was a pain, but pain had always comforted him. He pulled some more. He wanted to scream.

_Get me out of here._

_Get me out of here._

There was no sound escaping from his throat, all he could hear was a distant scream, tortured cries and a wetness. On his face. He was crying. He was screaming. He needed to get out.

"Jackson! Jackson, baby, it's okay. Jackson, please, Jackson it's okay."

Her voice grounds him. He blinks, chest expanding, lungs threatening to break through his ribs. He concentrates on her and does what has been helping him lately. He counts her freckles. One by one.

_One_

_Two_

_Three_

_Four_

_Thirteen_

_Twenty-one_

_Twenty-five_

His breathing slows, and there is no longer an outpour of uncontrollable tears. Just the aftermath of his fall from masculinity. He was pathetic. What kind of man cried from fear, what kind of man felt fear in the first place.

"I'm going to call the doctor, okay? Just… I'm going to do that." She says but doesn't move. Her hands on his eyes, cold but warm. Her eyes burning into his in silent panic. She was scared. Of him? No. For him.

He nods, and she leaves and there's a slight second where he feels an overwhelming emptiness and she comes back. Not alone this time, but followed by a man whom he doesn't recognise. It was a doctor.

"Jackson, I'm Dr Harrison. I was assigned to your case. How do you feel?"

He's middle-aged, short, stout, Santa Claus beard. Non-threatening. He spoke slow, almost as if he was consoling a child.

_What a joke._

He refused to reply, casting his eyes away and concentrating on the closed window. He noticed the grey blinds, and then his eyes drifted to the edges of the pane. They were bolted shut.

"He had a panic attack when he woke up. I think it's the constraints. Could you remove them?" April replies on his behalf.

"Of course. Those were just protocol. Let me take them off right now."

Dr Harrison walks around his bed, removing the clasps from his hand, and he quickly pulls them towards him, almost afraid they'll do it to him again. He checks on his pupils, listens to his heartbeat, strong, unfortunately.

_Fortunately?_

He wasn't sure yet.

"Well, physically he is fine," Dr Harrison says, and Jackson doesn't miss the emphasis.

"Um…."

"April."

"April, how about you give me and Jackson some time to talk. Get some food, coffee. You've been here for a long time."

"I…."

"April."

"Okay."

He feels her look at him, although his eyes are closed now. He couldn't bear to see her after what she witnessed. He couldn't bear to see her after he learnt that she had come for him, even after everything.

Dr Harrison pulls up a chair and sits down on it. Jackson watches him as he takes his notepad out of his coat, his pen ready.

"Do you know where you are?" He asks, smiling softly.

Jackson shakes his head. It's a hospital he knows that much.

"Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital, psychiatric ward. You're on suicide alert. Do you know why that is?"

Jackson balls his fists, his eyes scrunching, and shakes his head.

_Yes._

_No._

_I don't know._

"Do you remember what happened last night?"

_Flashes._

_A blade. Skin. Pain._

_A blade. Skin. Blood._

_A blade. Skin. Pain._

_Blood on water. Thick, unforgiving, a layer of shadow on the crystal-clear surface._

_Worthless. Stupid. Not good enough._

_Worthless. Stupid. Not good enough._

_Worthless. Stupid. Not good enough._

_Blood._

_Pain._

_Darkness._

"No."

"I think you do, Jackson."

He sneers, toughening up. Fuck this guy. Fuck him for making him look crazy.

_Fuck this guy._

"I told you, I didn't. Take it or leave it, doc." He says, arms crossed in front of him.

"You have bandages on your arms. Why do you think that is?"

"What is this a pop quiz?" He laughs, but it sounds maniacal.

"Why do you think that is?" Dr Harrison repeats.

Jackson doesn't say anything.

"Jackson, I think you have severe anxiety and clinical depression. I can't make that diagnosis, however, without having you open up to me. I can help. You can get better-"

"I'm not fucking crazy." Jackson retaliates. Depression? Fuck that. He was sad sometimes. He wasn't depressed. It wasn't that deep.

"I never said that."

Jackson huffs, nodding towards the window, "What you think patients will jump off the balcony? Jumping to your death is messy doc. Too much risk you don't end up dying. Same with pills. And a gun? Fuck no. That would be too ironic for me."

"You don't think it's strange that your brain normalises suicide this way?"

Jackson shrugs, "It's just death. I'm not scared."

"We're all scared to die, Jackson."

Jackson shakes his head, "I'm scared to live."

"Is that why you did what you did?"

"Slit my wrists? Just say it. Why are you so afraid to say it?" Jackson asks. He screams, actually.

"I'm not, but I think you are. Do you want to tell me why you did that?"

He thinks. It wasn't one thing. It was an accumulation of a lot of things. It is never one thing. It started with her. She left. She left because he'd told that she had been a notch on his belt he'd promised his friends he would score. He didn't expect to love her though. But he was a man, and when you were a man you had to constantly prove your masculinity.

Strong, emotionless, unaffected.

_I am a **man.**_

He was a man. He was a man. And then she left, and it broke him because he broke her. But he wasn't allowed to break down. He wasn't supposed to.

_What a joke._

"Man up."

Dr Harrison looks slightly confused for a second, but recovers, "Man up?"

He nods, "My dad always said that. Man up, Jackson. Man up. You're a man. Men don't cry. Man up. Man, the fuck up. Don't cry, Jackson. Not even when your mother is dying, or your father beats you in an alcoholic rage. Man, the fuck up, Jackson. Men don't cry."

There's a beat, "You had an abusive father?"

"No, don't make this a sob story."

The doctor nods, quickly jotting down something on his pad.

"Tell me about April."

Jackson's heart quickens for a second, and he sighs.

"What do you want to know?"

"Is she your girlfriend?"

Jackson chuckles darkly, "She's… too good for me."

"Well, she certainly doesn't seem to think so. She came in here as soon as we called. You didn't have an emergency number, so we called the first person on your speed dial. She was frantic. She didn't leave your side until you woke up this morning."

"Exactly. She's too good for me. I don't deserve that. I don't deserve her." Jackson sighs.

"You need to learn to accept the love you're given."

Jackson snorts.

_How cliché._

"She's a risk."

"How?"

"She makes me feel too much. I can't… I am going to let her down. One day, I will let her down. I'm my father's son after all." He grins, but there's a deep sadness behind it.

"You are your own person, Jackson. We are never our parents." Dr Harrison say, crossing one foot over the other.

He doesn't reply.

"I know you feel like you have to be closed up. You were taught not to feel anything too deeply because it'll threaten your manhood. It's a hard lesson to unlearn. But sadness, anger, self-doubt, they're not gendered emotions. It doesn't make you any less of man to cry. It makes you human."

Jackson ponders over that for a second.

"I don't want to die." He says, finally acknowledging what almost happened.

"Okay."

"I have to die."

"Why?"

Jackson looks up, facing his doctor directly for the first time.

"Because it's so hard to stay alive."

He feels tears pricking at his eyes, and he pinches them, willing them to stay back. He cannot cry. Not again.

"Let yourself feel, Jackson."

He shakes his head, "I don't want to die. But I don't want to live either. I just… I want to be happy."

"What makes you happy?"

The answer is immediate, "April."

"Well, then Jackson. You have to let her."

* * *

April walks into the room sometime after, holding a cup of coffee. There is still so much sadness in her eyes, but she looks less morose physically.

"Hey. You're awake." She plasters on a smile and walks up to him.

He nods.

"I was just getting some coffee. The machine in here is always broken, apparently, so I had to go outside and they only had a Starbucks. $4 for a coffee? Are you kidding-"

"I'm sorry."

She stops speaking and looks at him. She sighs heavily, "For what?"

"For hurting you."

She nods, "and for hurting yourself?"

"That hurt you too, right?"

She thinks about that and nods, "I don't want you to feel guilty."

"I don't. I just… I'm sorry it hurt. I'm sorry everything hurt."

She frowns, "I can't live without you. You can't leave me because I can't live without you."

It's hard to think about the people you're leaving behind when you're knee deep in misery, he thinks.

"I'll try not to," He won't make promises he can't keep, so he'll make one that he can, "I'll get help."

She looks at him for a long time before she seems satisfied with that answer.

"I love you. Even if you don't love me, I love you. So, when you're in your worst moments, I want you to remember that there's someone here who loves you."

He nods, and his heart feels heavy. She loves him.

"I do love you, you know. It's just… not easy for me to say."

Her face lights up, and for the first time since yesterday, he feels… something. That's enough for now.

She climbs back on to his bed, and tosses an arm around his torso, cuddling up to him, "You'll be okay. I know it. You'll be okay."

He kisses her forehead and chooses to believe her.

She won't save him. He knows that. But when he's drowning, and he's swimming against the current, when he pulls himself out of the water, eventually, she'll be there on the shore, waiting for him.

She can't save him, but she's the reason he'll save himself.


	11. McDreamy's Creek by Alongwalktoforever

**Summer:**

April was humiliated. How could she have been so stupid? She repeated to herself again. She had stood there in front of him, vulnerable and exposed as she had ever been and asked him to be with her. He had said no, he had turned away.

Presently on this warm September night, April found herself sitting alone at the end of her dock. Their Spot. Where they had watched many a sunset and long talks about the ever-elusive future and adulthood. They grew up together right here. However, April was not feeling nostalgic or melancholy. No, April was furious at herself for getting into this situation with Derek Shepherd again. They had spent the summer apart, the longest time they had ever gone without speaking since they had met more than 10 years prior in Kindergarten. She thought this summer was a break so that they could both grow and finally be together without the drama. But when she had asked him to be with her… all of her, he rejected her. And he knew what a big deal her virginity was to her, what her offer really meant! He told her that it was for both their good, that it would be better this way. We have to stop hurting each other… Or some other bull crap like that.

Everything that April knew or thought she knew came tumbling down. Derek and she weren't together and may never be again. The wave of humiliation and sadness crashed over her again and the tears stream down her face, falling silently into her lap. How was she ever going to face him again? Who is was she if she wasn't Derek's soulmate? April was so lost in thought that she didn't hear the rippling sound of an oar gliding across the water as a familiar boat with an unfamiliar inhabitant made its way across the creek.

"Ahoy there! Anyone ashore?" A voice broke through her reverie. When she finally looked up, April was dismayed to see the last person… well, second-to-last person, she wanted to talk to at this moment. Jackson Avery, Derek's other best friend and all-around troublemaker of Cape side. Jackson and she were never true friends, just somehow present for all the major moments of each other's life. In fact, she had known Jackson just as long as she had known Derek, but the only bond Jackson and she seemed to share, however, was that the most important person in each of their lives just happened to be the same person. And they seemed to drive each other equally crazy. Jackson was sarcastic and infuriatingly unburdened by anything and everything while April was considered anal-retentive, a know-it-all and overall killjoy in his eyes. Or that is what she had figured all these years.

"What are you doing here?" April questioned as she tucks her red tendrils behind her ear.

"Well, it's the damnedest thing. I just got into Derek's rowboat and magically drifted towards your dock," Jackson tries to joke, hoping that it could be construed as a peace offering, but April was in no laughing mood.

"Yeah well, magically drift any closer and I'll kill you," April warned, but she couldn't muster up the usual acidity that she spat Jackson's way.

"You know, I almost believe that," Jackson states. Ignoring her threat, Jackson finishes tying his off his boat and hops next to her at the edge of the dock. Neither of them speaks right away, but April feels an infuriating knowing glow radiating from his direction. She looks away as she tries to hide her tears, but one slight glance in his direction and April figures out why he is here.

"He told you, didn't he?" April felt the familiar humiliation start to bubble over, but now it was turning into anger. Derek was already telling people about what happened before April even had a moment to process. Jackson shrugs his response so she repeats her question, "Didn't he?"

"Well… what do you think?" Jackson states, finally. Truthfully, he had been sent on this mission by his best friend. She is going to need someone and she would never ever admit that, but she does. Could you talk to her or just watch over her for a few days? Derek, always the martyr was putting himself first for once so Jackson agreed to his request. On his way over, Jackson was nervous. April had never been his biggest fan and vice versa. However, as Jackson saw her red hair glowing in the moonlight at the end of the dock, he knew what he needed to say and he knew he was the only one who could.

"I think I hate you both." April feels the angry tears burn her eyes. She didn't know who she was angriest at most: Derek, Jackson, or herself.

"Well, then you're really gonna hate me when you hear what I have to say," Jackson remarks. He had never been one to sugar coat things, but he was finding himself trying to be as gentle as possible. "He did the right thing. The two of you need to be apart right now."

"How would you know what I need?" April shoots back. Jackson had always told the truth, good or bad, and even April had to admire that quality from time to time. But, at this moment, she had rather he keep his thoughts to himself. Before he answers, Jackson mind fills with images of a brunette beauty with chestnut eyes.

"Yeah…You know, you're probably right. How could I possibly know how hard it is to let somebody go? The pain of knowing that even though even though the two of you are right for each other, that doesn't necessarily mean you are right for each other...right now," Jackson pauses, his memories of Lexie and everything that happened last year rush back. How they had bonded as she tutored him in school abetted with her photographic memory. Their first kiss. The first time he had said 'I love you.' The times she didn't say it back until he realized he wasn't enough for her. Jackson had been through his own heartache this year and he knew what it was like to not have someone love you the way you want. He turns to April and looks her in the eyes for the first time before finishing his speech.

"What would I know about that? How could I possibly know that sometimes it makes you want to scream...or hit somebody...or sit at the end of the dock and cry," Jackson ends softly. April knew about Lexie and his break-up but she had no idea just how deeply he cared, or could care. She was seeing a whole new side of Jackson. Even though what he was saying might be true, it didn't mean she felt any better. After a few moments of silence, April finally responds.

"Of all the people to see me this way, it had to be you," She sighs, not sure if it was bad luck or fate that brought him over here.

"You know, it's a new year… Who knows? You and I might even become friends?" Jackson offers with a slight smile.

"Jackson…I am upset enough as it is." April wisecracks, she was finally starting to feel like herself again.

"Come here, Keps," Jackson laughs as he throws his hand around her shoulder and pulls her closer. April rests her head in the nook of his arm, she hated to admit it, but it felt very nice to be comforted like this. She finally lets the tear fall freely, no longer embarrassed by her emotions. Jackson rubs her arm in a patient manner. They sit like that for a few minutes, before April wipes the last of tears away with the back of her hand. As she lifts her head from his shoulder, they catch each other's eye and chuckle awkwardly. They had never been this emotionally open with one another before and it just took some getting used to.

"Well… I am gonna go. Thank you, Jackson… Thanks for being here," April says, sincerely. She slowly gets up from the dock and starts to walk back to her house. Jackson waves goodnight, but there was still something bothering him.

"April!" He calls out and she turns around surprised. "I know that you think you and Derek are soulmates and that he's one, but come on…"

"Well then… Who is? You?" April meant it as a joke, but Jackson's face drains in panic.

"NO! No, no, no… not me," Jackson shakes his head and arms in vehement denial.

"Oh no!" April backtracks and feels her face turn beet red. "It was a joke… I was making a totally stupid joke."

"Yeah no, it wasn't good." Jackson manages. He takes a deep breath and continues his original thought, "What I was going to say was that nobody has just one soulmate. That would be a totally dumb system."

April doesn't say anything. She just nods slowly before turning back around and disappearing into the darkness. Jackson sits there for a few more minutes by himself and stares up at the night sky. He didn't know where the year would take them, but something felt different. He had this feeling that he couldn't shake, a feeling that this year would surprise them all.

TO BE CONTINUED...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look out for the author's follow ups!


	12. The Grey Place by FaziO

_Welcome! Everything is fine._

The bold type greeting and affirmation stenciled onto the opposite wall – conversely a shout-out green on quiet toned egg-shell white … the gentle whisper of wind chimes … the sensation of newness … the décor stylings of a doctor's waiting-room coupled with a contrary feeling of patience … the aura of serene peacefulness. All confusing yet strangely soothing.

"Jesse? Come on in."

I'm ushered into an inner sanctum and gestured into a visitor's chair, still comforted by her tranquil tones. Falling into past behavioral patterns I immediately adopt a wait and see approach.

_Never volunteer information… unless and until you know the lay of the land._

I could make quite a valid argument for the former being my life motto. What can I say, I was a closed book. Or as an ex, with the distinction of proficiency in psychobabble had put it,  _I was emotionally unavailable_. Air quotes enclosed, of course. She'd later graduated to calling it  _stunted_. That time, shrill screech accompanied.

I would argue that I was simply cautious. Hesitant even. Not spineless, mind you. Although that too seemed to herald a difference of opinion amongst myself and the female population. One even went with the derisive adjective Pusillanimous, until the assumption of a negative connotation – it sounding like a comparison to female genitalia – registered. Speaking of… The comedic duo of Tom and Jerry rivalry definitely and defiantly wasn't a kink of mine, so neither a pussy nor a mouse was I. A _tad_  sexist I may have been but nowhere near the level of brazen, unapologetic misogynist. There I would be out-Trumped.

Okay, so GI Joe I was also not, and between you, me and the lamppost, Cowardly Lion  _was_  my favorite character from The Wizard of Oz. But that didn't make me yeller-bellied! Read in Countrified Red-neck or Wild, Wild West alto. Either would work as both personified disgust at the display of fear or gentler emotions. The curse of toxic masculinity, which fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on which side of the excuse you stood upon – I was  _not_ evolved enough to recognize as a flaw.

Yeah, that ex had been a psych major. Or a major psycho. Take your pick.

Thus, the latter sentiment of my slogan is more a mellowing with age approach, I suppose.

Chillin like a villain.

Mellow fellow, not prone to bellow, maybe  _slightly_  yellow, am I.

Clearly one with an aptitude for alliteration.

_Dr. Seuss is that you?_

"Comfortable? So, hey, welcome. I'm Michael… err Michaela. Or Miranda, if that's easier to remember? No wait, let's just stick with Michaela. So. How's it hanging, my man?"

"Still there, as far as I know. Thanks for asking. Oh… one question? Where am I? Who are you? And what's going on?"

"Right. So, you Jesse Williams, are dead. Your life on earth has ended and you are now in the next phase of your existence in the universe."

"Well that's… unexpected."

"Death  _is_  the number 1 killer in the world."

"Right. Cool … Uh, I have some questions."

"Thought you might."

She retains her neutral expression but, although my name is not Harriet, I manage to Spy the slightest hint of amusement. Unclear whether it's the witty flippancy of my delivery that moves her or her own jocular response to it.

"How did I kick it? I—I don't remember…"

"Yes, um, in cases of traumatic or embarrassing deaths, we erase the memory of the event to allow for a peaceful transition. Sure you wanna know?"

I nod emphatically. If I'd had a headful of hair, instead of this bald beautifulness –  _wait, I still look like me right? I'm a handsome devil if I do say so myself… so sexy it hurts_ – the strands would be bobbing wildly in anticipation. I wonder at what level Freddy Krueger Trauma led to my demise. A jealous spouse perhaps? Or considering the moral de-evolution to Trump's 'Great White Amerikkka', a jealous sibling-lover most likely?

Reading off her intake chart, "All righty. So you were at the gym for a non-workout workout and apparently a conscientious objector to the attitude that went with your 'Too sexy for my shirt' T-Shirt and one bitch-slap later started a train of events."

_I knew it! Am I good or am I good? The Green-Eyed Arrow strikes again! A bitter, resentful husband couldn't stand his wife ogling all this. Not that I could blame her… you should see me without a shirt on. It's kinda ridiculous._

Well, I was green-eyed too, when I needed to be – thank the whichever Supreme Ophthalmologist for creating color contacts – but obviously I mean Mr. Man and his metaphorical shade of suspicion. Or do I mean literal?

Does envy and jealousy actually physically manifest like jaundice, except lime instead of lemon?

_See, I'm in touch with my feminine side! What other non-metrosexual knows that those could pass for green and yellow? Or join together in color matrimony like the rough end of a pineapple…_

If that's the case then Grandmaster Yoda wasn't very enlightened in the sphere of negative human emotion, now was he? Whoa, with that reasoning the Star Wars Universe, and all 3 of its trilogies, would be totally thrown outa whack, causing a great disturbance in The Force. Or the space time continuum – no wait, that's Back to the Future. The ripples would forever undulate, dispersing havoc amongst true-blue SW purists.

Anyway, props to me for the ole fitness ploy. I mean, the race for the attainment of peak physical perfection, or six-pack abs, is all really just a scam. Good health is merely the slowest possible rate at which one can die.

So I clearly don't reference me striking anyone. Although… I did score a figurative bullseye, right?

Yeah, yeah, I know. Allegorical speech and I get on like a house on fire.

Come to think of it, I  _am_  royally pissed that some ass couldn't control his woman and his temper and so here I sit, dead.

"The girlfriend of the woman you were hitting on was actually a body-builder. Big ups to you bro, coz you weren't knocked out cold but on your journey to the floor you staggered into another club member setting off a chain reaction of sorts."

_Wait, what? Oh Shit… I'd fallen and couldn't waddup?_

"Luckily you managed to roll out of the path of falling weights and barbells but unluckily the resultant trajectory landed you under one hulking wrestler, who may or may not have elbowed you in the groin as she was helped up from pancaking you."

_Now doesn't that just give new meaning to the word 'ball-buster'?_

"Oof. That's how I died?" I cringe at the psychological mind fuck that the mental picture produces. Who knew that the simple inference of a shot below the belt could not only mimic phantom symptoms but also create a real impact? Simply from this retelling I feel my balls shrivel up in sympathetic pain, shrinking in on themselves. A psychosomatic loudness receding to a dull roar. And all this without even having a piece of sandpaper shoved into my crotch.

Zero out of 10, would not recommend – either the experience or the specter of remembrance. At least I'm dead, so I don't have the worry over the prospect of never becoming a father. After all, Life is sexually transmitted.

"No, this was just the prelude."

_Was this joke place a gym or a ballet recital of The Nutcracker?!_

"You were marginally saved from having a torn scrotum, but you brushed it off and pigeon-toed or was it duck-waddled – well some kind of bird maneuver – to the grocery store nearby, to get something to ice your testicles. While there you decided to stock up on your usual Axe Ego Dual Anti-Perspirant Deodorant and Body Spray, which had run out."

Well yeah. The hype is real.

Everyone knows Axe stimulates women's olfactory senses. Add bonus pas de deux – dance duet pun notwithstanding – simulating a pheromone cheat sheet and voilà… advantage trois.

Pardon my French, but there's no accounting error here. Augmenting Axe and Au Naturel Pheromones with my fine ass self and oui, trifecta of a sure thing.

So sí, à la Française and I are on a seductive first name basis. I know just enough to get me into trouble.

_Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?_

_Wait… what's up with this ADHD? Still. No Ritalin and my attention spams all over the place. And that Michelangelo, could she get a whiff of my Ego?_

_That Rogue Black can of Ego, a Dark Temptation… Instinct and Adrenalin, Provoke a combination to give the Signature Musk a Vice boost._

_Nah… I a jus a rappin', givin the fragrances a tagline. But of course, Ego is my one._

"In the parking lot your Ego was too heavy for the plastic bag – you shoulda gone with paper… better for the environment too – and when you bent down to retrieve the runaway bottles a long column of shopping carts, that were being returned to the shopping cart collection area, rolled out of control and plowed into you."

"Ohkaay. So  _this_  is actually how I died."

"No, sorry, there's more still. This is the best part really."

_Say what now? Oh, she's probably spinning the traumatic part of my death._

"You were able to grab on to the front of the column of shopping carts, but it swept you right out into the street where you were struck and killed by a mobile billboard truck advertising an erectile dysfunction pill called 'Engorge-ulate.' Ironically, it's a product you were quite familiar with – although some things I just don't need to know – and doubly ironic that the billboard took out the very appendage the tablet claimed to restore full functionality to."

"What?! Engorge-ulate Bobbitted my penis!"

 _Little J snipped?!_   _But I'm sure I would have felt his absence!_

I start patting myself wildly, looking for the attachment, even going so far as to stand up and unzip.

"Whoa there. Calm down. Your body has been restored. The Full Package. Severed pieces all intact. Note to self: ask Alexa what's a Bobbitt. " I barely catch the last part as she murmurs it as an almost soundless aside. Something to do with a Lexus…

Added to that my attention concentrates solely on my pride and joy, Old Faithful, which paradoxically hadn't been quite so true. Unlike Yellowstone National Parks highly predictable geothermal feature of the same name – Old Faithful: the erupting cone geyser that went off every 44 to 125 minutes – my natural jets had been reduced to a trickle. It was like those giant-ass firecrackers that looked fierce when inert but fizzled when lit. Prematurely ejaculated. No bang for the buck. Hence the need for artificial stimulation courtesy of an idiotic ED Specialist, Mayfield in 22.

It had gotten so bad that even my pick-up game had suffered. Discernible rockets in my pocket? None.

"Okay. Phew. That's… I get it. Thank you."

"Thanks to Engorge-ulate we didn't even need to use a magnifying glass to find all the bits."

"Wh—at?" I'm sure that at this point my sight orbs are engorgulated.

"Okay, enough said. Sorry."

_She doesn't have to enjoy this quite so much!_

"Yeah," I clear my throat.

_Move on buddy, nothin' to see here. Well not nothin' apparently…_

"So who was right? About all this, I mean." I motion towards her, myself and the big-ass desk that separates us. Obviously I presuppose the entire universe and its workings, but more importantly about who runs the world. And the afterlife. Aside from Beyoncé.

"Alexa for one," she grins, lifting one eyebrow as if to prompt a similar reaction, then not looking very impressed at my lackluster response.

There was that familiar sounding name again. I'd thought she'd said Lexus before, but how could a motorcar, even one with all the self-drive technological advancements that rendered actual drivers superfluous, accurately predict this here after death? Unless… Or…? Nah, it couldn't be… could it? I mean even though the tech had come a long way, Amazon's virtual assistant – A.I. Alexa – wouldn't be afterlife compliant, right? Maybe in a galaxy far, far away?

_C'mon man, my leg has been pulled more than enough already. As have other appendages._

Meanwhile, back on Earth, the battle for Artificial Intelligence superiority had been heating up. Apple's Siri vs. Google Assistant vs. Alexa vs. Microsoft's Cortana. It was up in the air as to which was winning the virtual assistant race.

Seeing as I don't get the joke, Michaela simply brushes the Lexie titbit aside and continues with her explanation as though nothing had been said in the first place.

"Well, let's see. Hindus are a little bit right. Muslims a little bit. Jews, Christians, Buddhists. Every religion guessed about 5%. Except for George O'Malley."

"Who?—who's George O'Malley?"

_What the… is the hereafter also dominated by pasty-faced white dudes? Of Irish – or is it Scottish? – descent? A rotund individual, no doubt._

_One didn't mess with Scottish people. They were temperamental… half temper and half mental._

"Well O'Malley was a stoner kid who lived in Seattle during the 1970's. One night, he got really high on mushrooms, and his best friend Izzy said, 'Hey, what do you think happens after we die?' And O'Malley just launched into this long monologue where he got like 92% correct." Michaela chuckles fondly at the recollection. "I mean we couldn't believe what we were hearing," she continues. "He's pretty famous around here, like 007 – licensed to kill," she winks. "Of course he's no Elba or Connery. He's a bit of an unassuming chap. A little round around the edges. But, he delivers. I would name my kid after him."

_Delivers? What delivers? Delivers Pizza? Weirdest segue ever…_

"So maybe my biggest question, err, am I… rather is this…" My non-verbal cues seem to be firing on all cylinders, so while my voice breaks like a pre-pubescent teen, I give it a time out and mime the balance of that sentence.

_Thumbs up or thumbs down?_

No middle finger involved. Simple and clear. Anyone would get it… and anyone does.

"Well, it's not the heaven and hell idea you were raised on. But generally speaking, in the afterlife, there's a Good Place and there's a Bad Place. You're in the Good Place… you're okay, Jesse. All's good. You're in the Good Place."

I exhale, relieved. "Well, that's good."

"Sure – you betcha. Okay. Let's take a walk, shall we?"

"Say, you wouldn't happen to know if I came in with any bling? Or if your first responders picked up my man-bag?" Distracted, I gaze around me, searching. "No. I'm dead, right. Okay."

_Livin la vida loca._

I'd been tryna say 'C'est la vie' but I forgot the phrase and so long story short I shrugged and said 'Livin la vida loca.'

With great remembrance though, comes great responsibility… to grammar-fy. Even if it is simply to my inner voice. Hence…

_C'est la vie mon ami… Au revoir shiny._

* * *

"So this is how it works. The Good Place is divided into distinct neighborhoods. Each one contains exactly 322 people who have been perfectly selected to blend together into a blissful harmonic balance."

_Uh, Gentrification anyone?_

"Do all the neighborhoods look like this?"

"No, each one is unique. Some have warm weather, some cold. Some are cities, some farmland. But in each one, every blade of grass, every ladybug, every detail has been precisely designed and calibrated for its residents."

"There's a lot of frozen yogurt places." I spot three in the immediate vicinity.

"Yeah. That's the one thing we put in all the neighborhoods. People love frozen yogurt. Terry loves yogurt. I donno what to tell you."

_Who the fudge is Terry? Fudge?_

"You're gonna have a million more questions, I know. For right now better grab a seat. Movies about to begin."

Lemme paint the scene for you. Perfect day, perfect temperature, perfect garden in perfect town square. Perfect 321 people… and me, surrounded by Go-GURT – yogurt on the go, apparently – wide-eyed gaze fixed on the wireless wide-screen, shades of Dharma Initiative style Orientation Infomatic. Michaela, my transitional guru into this plane – also, it appeared, to every one of 321 other people – as it turns out is the narrator of this new-finagled PowerPoint Presentation. She Excels at it. Word. Actually, the technology appears to have leapt ahead of the living. Microsoft? For who? MS office booted right outa the world. Come to think of it, that explanation is as good as any as to who was awarded the tender for afterlife A.I. And it isn't Cortana.

In Teal Business Women Chic, Michaela hovered, a little nervously, it seemed, on the celluloid big-screen and boy did those heels look uncomfortable. What is it with women and their strange fascination with footwear? Almost a feminine requisite to have a shoe fetish. And incite foot fetishes.

_No. Sneakers are different. And are work appropriate. And comfort driven… and good to look at, and highlight those attractive calves. And quiet. That's why they're called sneak…—nevermind._

_Not the same at all._

_Not even shoe painting level fixations – that's art thank you very much – and not based on any real life example._

_Yeah, not the same at all._

And so it played…

_The Good Place. Orientation: Day One._

"Hello everyone. And welcome to your first day in the afterlife. You were all, simply put, good people," Movie Michaela began. "But how do we know that you were good? How are we sure?" she asked, framed within a background of 'Good versus Bad: an explanation', with text prominently highlighted in neon green and blood red respectively. Setting the tone, as it were.  _Red Bad. Green Good._

"During your time on Earth, every one of your actions had a positive or a negative value, depending on how much good or bad that action put into the universe."  _Green Plus. Red Minus._

_A Point System? In end movie credit format? What exactly is the measuring criteria?_

And there she went, clarifying. And okay, it's low-key obvious. But just to be safe I hope that no mind-reading is possible here. Otherwise,  _I'm screwed._

"Every sandwich you ate, every time you bought a magazine, every single thing you did had an effect that rippled out over time and ultimately created some amount of good or bad."

_Use 'Facebook' as a verb: -5.55 … Use the term 'Bro-Code': -8.20 … Tell a woman to 'smile': -53.83_

_What the…? This obviously hadn't bidden well for the score card._

"You know how some people pull into the breakdown lane when there's traffic? And they think to themselves, 'Ah, who cares? No one's watching.'  _We_  were watching. Surprise!"

Audience participation in the form of laughter. Not funny for me though.  _How did I even make it here?_  "Anyway, when your time on Earth has ended, we calculate the total value of your life using our perfectly accurate measuring system. Only the people with the very highest scores, the true cream of the crop, get to come here to The Good Place."  _Green for the win._

"What happens to everyone else, you ask? Don't worry about it."  _Red for the sad?_

"The point is, you are here because you lived one of the very best lives that could be lived. And you won't be alone. Your true soul mate is here too."

_No way! Soul mates are a dumb system. Right?_

"That's right. Soul mates are real."

_No, man. That isn't the question I didn't ask._

"One of the other people in your neighborhood is your actual soul mate, and you will spend eternity together. So welcome to eternal happiness. Welcome to the Good Place."

_Okay. Doesn't sound too bad. And these dorks look passable. 321 people isn't that big a deal. My partner has to be hottie, true? I mean she has to match me at least, if she's my 'soul mate'? God, I hope it's a She._

My attention returns in time for the final accolades, commercialized in true human style.

"Sponsored by: Otters holding hands while they sleep. You know the way you feel when you see a picture of two otters holding hands? That's how you're gonna feel every day."

Orientation day one close, to not quite thunderous – 321 good people and 1 iffy aren't ominous, or overly loud – applause.

* * *

"So who is in the Bad Place that would shock me?"

"Uh, well, Mozart, Picasso, Elvis. Basically every artist ever. Uh, every US President. Bill Gates."

_Sounds about right. Microsoft is so passé. No wonder the GP doesn't bother with license keys. Maybe the BP pirates them though. But wait, BG is dead?_

"What about Florence Nightingale? Mother Theresa? Gandhi?"

"Florence was close, but no she didn't make it. Mother Theresa skated through and Gandhi there was no question – one way big ticket red."

"Wow, all those amazing people down there. It just seems so hard to believe."

"Well the fact that there's a highway to hell and only a stairway to heaven should give you a hint about the anticipated traffic numbers," she winks, once again hinting at her wicked sense of humor.

"Still..," I laugh in response, but I am curious.

"Again, it's an incredibly selective system. Most people don't make it here. But you, you're plugged in," she explains, then further elucidates. "An educator of young minds, attempting to erase the disparity of access for poor folk. An abolitionist, activist, feminist. Fighter of freedom, justice and equity in the public space for Black and Brown individuals. Rocking alleyship for Black Women. Advocating for the oppressed masses by continuing the fight for civil liberties. Ensuring no halt or interruption to the Civil Rights Movement. Beating the path at grassroots level." It's like she's reading off a résumé or a Wikipedia biography. "Key positives are your on the ground direct involvement in the US Ferguson protests and raising awareness campaigns regarding the US Flint water crises. Hashtag BLM, my brotha," she follows up by mirroring the # symbol – the middle fingers of each hand perpendicular to the other – and finishes off with the Black Power salute. "You're special, Jesse. And by the way, welcome to your new home."

_Whaat? Houston, we have a problem. And the silence from the universe is deafening._

"You see, in The Good Place, every person gets to live in a home that perfectly matches his or her true essence."

"Cruel… er I mean cool. So, I guess that's why my house, for example, is this quaint little cottage, whereas other people might have homes that are bigger, like that one," I point to the mansion next door.

_What the Bad Place?! Right in my own backyard, ruining my aesthetic. My teeny tiny bungalow looks like the security kiosk leading to the high falutin' manor. All that is missing to separate me from the castle, is a moat._

"Exactly. Oh, I'm so happy you get it."

**:-E  :-E  :-E**

"As you can see, the interior has been decorated just as you like it, in the Traditional Country Charm Rustic style. Throw pillows, all shapes, sizes and colors. A Washer/Dryer combo coz of the relaxation that doing laundry brings you. Lots of Tupperware – we know how much you love leftovers and that you don't like food going to waste and of course that frothy thingie so you can make your own lattès."

_Well daemn son!_

"Oh, oh and uh, of course you love clowns and scenic art with fields of flowers – you're quite in tune with the mystic femininity within, I must say – so…," she points to the nook housing no less than six clown portraits, two of which are highlighted by recessed accent lights. A corner-copia of Clowns. Completing the tableau, a wooden bench allowing for a full access viewing area.

"I do love clowns. And especially that one wearing daisies... in a field of daisies. So much… daisies. Yellow. Almost eclectic."

_No abstracts? Well, double damn. The naked clown in the field could have bordered on suggestive if it wasn't so IT… a terrifying eroticism and not of the BDSM variety._

_If I was a cop I'd have to arrest the artist for aggravated assault of the eyes._

"Now, let me show you the, uh, the video system here." She motions into the air and, similar to the wireless technology of the Orientation Video, a large free-standing projector screen pops out. "You can review everything that happened in your life from your point of view. Here we go."

And on screen pops in a docu-style movie, as seen through the camera lens of the narrator's eyes. Which is me. Supposedly.

"This is your Human Rights Mission to Palestine. Together with the Dream Defenders you called an end to state violence against children in Palestine and in the United States. You also petitioned for the freedom of the real Wonder Woman, 16 year old Ahed Tamimi, the young Lioness of Palestine, and the more than 300 Palestinian children in israeli prisons. Good job, this one. I mean you got a ton of points for that. It really put you over the top."

_Little People… now didn't that just get a drag queen's mascara going?_

"Not to mention the boycott you started of Gal Gardot. I can tell you that they're anxiously awaiting her in the Bad Place. Americans are a funny bunch hey, playing with words like ironic… making an anti-Black racist child killer the poster child for feminism and women empowerment?"

"At least she's a woman."

"Huh, what?"

"Uhh, I meant that's the argument menanists use. That they allowed women to have this. Stupid. Right?"

Her loud snort confuses me. Does she mean that it's idiotic or that my argument is? Or that she picked up by my waffling that I'm tryna give her what she wants to hear? The word that emerges on an exhaled puff of disgust unwittingly takes pity on my ignorance. "Menanist!"

Luckily no further expounding occurs as the mini tour of my mini abode is interrupted… by a mini person. Well short anyways. Not a tiny human child.

"April, come on in," Michaela invites this first guest to come a knocking at my door.

"Jesse? I'm April Kepner and you are my soul mate," the diminutive redhead shyly approaches but contrarily, confidently greets.

_Well okay! She's no busty, big booty blonde, but while thick usually gets a blokes sputtering motor running, this is The Good Place. So, I figure the equipment should function just fine without the need for added stimulation. She would do._

"Cool. Bring it in girl." I keep the hug PG and don't even attempt to cop a feel. There are soul mate confidences to earn.

"Now, excuse me. I have other people to attend to," a foolishly grinning Michaela bids adieu as she leaves us to become better acquainted.

"So where you from, April?"

"Well, I was born in Moline, raised in Chicago via Ann Arbor and Jackson County, but my work took me all over the place. Australia, Hong Kong, Paris. What about you?"

_Ooh, sign from the universe?_

"Uh, well, I—I was born in Phoenix. Arizona. And then I went to school in Tempe, Arizona. And then I moved back to Phoenix, Arizona. Your accent is quite cool by the way. The English is amazing. No country twang at all."

"Oh! I'm actually speaking French. This place just translates whatever you're saying into a language the other person can understand. It's incredible."

"Whoa."

_Aah nuts! There goes impressing her with my Voulez-vous._

"And now I want to say this," she grabs my hands, earnest expression on.

"Mm-kay…?"

"Jesse. I have spent my entire life in pursuit of fundamental truths about the universe. And now we can actually learn about them together  _as soul mates_. It's overwhelming, isn't it?"

"April. You'll stand by my side no matter what, right?"

"Of course I will."

"Promise me. Say, 'I promise I will never betray you for any reason.' Say it."

"Jesse, I swear that I will never say or do anything to cause you  _any_  harm."

"Good. Because those aren't my memories," I point towards the big-screen that continues playing the Human Rights Mission kids on a loop. "I wasn't an activist. I never went to Palestine – actually I've never been out of America. I hate clowns, paintings of scenery and Country Charm Rustic. There's been a big mistake. I'm not supposed to be here. Oh, and my name is Jackson Avery."

"Wait, what?"

**:-0  :-0  :-0**

"Are you sure this isn't you?" April asks for the umpteenth time, wildly gesturing towards the so-called but not so very smart, screen.

"Yeah, babe, I'm pretty sure…"

"Don't call me babe. I'm not your babe."

"Right. Sorry."  _But wait, isn't she my soul mate? Oh right, the mistake. So not mine_. "As I was saying… I'm pretty sure I wasn't an abolitionist activist whatever. Who collected clown paintings and rescued orphans. They didn't even get my name right."

_Pfft… mildly annoying that someone with this attractive mug could be mistaken for some activist type._

"I mean, somebody royally forked up. Somebody  _forked_ up. Why can't I say 'fork'?"

"If you're trying to curse, you can't here. I guess a lot of people in this neighborhood don't like it, so profanity is prohibited."

"That's bullshirt. You know studies have shown that intelligent people swear more than stupid motherforkers. And I'm sure Michaela let off some bombs herself."

"Yeah, I donno what to tell you. Perhaps Michaela's office is considered a transitional portal so it isn't censored up to that point. Or maybe when you first arrive they cut you some slack." The explanation sounds reasonable, as good as any, I suppose. But it still chaps my friggin' ash.

"So, uh, if you're not this person, then who are you? What did you do for a living?" April's question interrupts my attempt to mind curse.

"I was… in… sales." By her expression I can tell that the brief explanation doesn't quite cut it. "Okay fine. It was not precisely medicine for seniors that was telemarketed. It was technically chalk."

"So, your job was to defraud the elderly? Sorry—the sick and elderly?"

"But I was very good at it. I was the top salesperson five years running."

"Okay, but that's worse. I mean, you do get how that's worse? Right?"

"Mm." Not saying I agree. Not saying I disagree. I'm okay with sitting on the fence with this one.

* * *

"You know, maybe it's a test. Maybe if you go to Michaela and you tell her the truth, you'll pass the test and you'll get to stay."

This is a good idea. Not what she said, but this… convincing over yogurt. The tart sweetness would surely distract April enough for me to bring her around to assist in keeping her soul mate accessible.

"No way. I can't risk going to the Bad Place."

"Okay, well, maybe it's not actually like all that bad. Let's just get some information first. We'll ask Alexa. Hey Alexa?"

"Hi there."

"Gah!" I would categorically deny that the high pitched shriek of surprise emitted from this body. I'm not mortified by any means at the sound, but who wouldn't be a little startled to have a live woman just suddenly appear in front of a person enjoying a chilla fro-yo with their soul mate? Like a pop-up Jackson-in-the-box.

I got the appeal of no hot beverages, what with all this popping in and out, but a cuppa Java now would not have gone amiss. It sure would've hit the spot. A caffeine high was nothing to scoff at. Way cooler too as an addiction. Also managed to cleverly skirt the issue of bowl movements and their irritability. Something that both lactose intolerants and yogurt lovers were keen to advertise the workings thereof.

"How can I help you?" appearing out of thin air female turns towards me to ask.

"What the fork? Who are you?" Not shy about expressing my displeasure, swear-word-less too.

"I'm Alexa. I'm the information assistant here in the Good Place."

"She's like this walking database," April adds. "Like an encyclopedia – A Lexa-pedia. Lexipedia. Huh. Fits her to a T too. True? Anyway, you can ask her about the creation of the universe, or history…"

"Oh, there was this English exchange student who lived in Avondale, Arizona, around 2002. Her name was Mara Keaton. Is she gay?"

"No."

"Really? Huh. I guess she just didn't want to have sex with me."

"That's correct."

"Well, that's fine. I wasn't that into her anyway."

"Yes, you were."

"Okay, Lexipedia… Lexie. I have a question," April interrupts, mercifully.

How is it possible to feel second-hand embarrassment of my past live self? And in front of a humanoid-looking robot to boot.

"Okay."

"What is the Bad Place like?"

"Oh, sorry, that is the one topic I'm not allowed to tell you about. I can only play you a brief audio clip of what is happening there right now."

"Okay."

The screeching is horrendous. Enough to cause me to leave my yogurt. Which anyone in the know would know is a serious no-no for me. One thing Jackson Avery has in common with Jesse Williams is the belief that food is not meant to be wasted. The proof of the pudding is in the eating and the leavin' of the puddin' is proof enough at how shook I am. "Well, it doesn't sound awesome."

* * *

"Does everyone have a huge house except me?"

Well this is major suckage! Perhaps a stroll through the neighborhood isn't the best strategy. Except, that hadn't been  _my_  idea. I'm simply the swash to April's wave. Though with the speed required to keep up, I'm more likely the backwash. Not seeming to have a destination in mind, her huge strides –  _slight_  exaggeration – nevertheless seem purposeful, eating up the distance. She moves fast for someone so tiny. Someone intent on intensely ignoring me and my predicament. Does not bode well for my peace of mind, or my continued residency in The Good Place.

"All right, we need a plan." Never let it be said that I can't snub a snub. Oblivious is my middle name. I can do clueless with the best of them. "I say we just lie low and hope that they don't notice me."

"I'm sorry, I don't think I can help you." And she speaks. Although with what she's saying, I'd rather she didn't. Why can't women just follow instruction? "I just don't like being dishonest, and I can't advise you to be dishonest either."

"C'mon, I'm just asking you to fudge a little bit. You must have told a few white lies in your life. I mean, what was your job?"

"I was a professor of ethics and moral philosophy."

"Motherforker!" It amazes me that these uncussable words still manage to not only convey the foul sentiment it means to but also that the level of satisfaction they bring somewhat alleviates the need for expression of the actual word.

"I'm getting a stomachache." Now she's simply being extra. "I'm in a perfect utopia, and I'm—I have a stomachache. This is awful." Waaay extra. I can tell that she's in no way that shooketh. "I—I, uh, I think I have to tell Michaela about this."

"Tell Michaela about what?" the angel in question crosses our path. Thankfully not a moment sooner.

"Michaela? Hi. What have you been up to?"

"Jesse, April, I would like you to meet Cristahani Yang and Jianyu," she introduces the couple with her. "They are soul mates," she continues, "and your next-door neighbors," she finishes.

"Hello. You may call me Tahani. Love your pad. It's just so minute and cute, like a little child's plaything. Adorable." This is some next level passive aggressive BS. Apparently, in the Good Place, subtext is fine even if it is pretentious.

"Tahani and Jianyu are having a little welcome party tonight, and they've invited the  _entire_ neighborhood." Michaela appears impressed so obviously this was outa the norm.

"I simply adore entertaining. Don't I just adore it Jianyu?" Tall T looks down at her slightly shorter soul mate and receives a nod in confirmation. "Oh, um, yes, by the way Jianyu here is a Buddhist monk, you see? And he obeys a strict code of silence. So when you see him smiling and nodding, that's actually his way of jumping up and down with glee. Isn't that right, darling?"

Another nod received. Going by his mate's reaction one assumes that the guy is probably giddy with excitement. Strangely, he doesn't fit the profile of Buddhist Monk. Or perhaps my preconceptions need an overhaul? Quiet though he is, I don't really think he's a pacifist. He reminds me more of an angry Wrestler. A Sumo Wrestler, maybe? … without the girth. Frankly the mould he appears to be shaped from, I would venture to suppose, seems more disdainful American than anything else. I wonder if this is perchance a case of Beverly Hills Ninja style backstory. I hope that I have an eternity to solve this mystery,  _my_  mate compliance being questionable.

"So, we'll see you tonight? Oh I know tonight is going to be perfect, but now it's going to be even perfect-er. Obviously it's impossible for something to be more perfect than perfect—"

"Well, it isn't actually. Any place or thing in the universe can be up to 104% perfect. That's how you got Beyoncé." Couldn't disagree with that. Michaela is up on her popular culture. Or else she's Beyhive representation in the afterlife. The latter seems entirely too plausible.

"Great," I fake smile it out. April keeps mum but responds in the affirmative to the invitation. Small mercies, I guess.

* * *

"No way! My entire house could fit in this foyer."

"Okay, uh… help me out here. Tell me one good thing that you did on Earth. Just one truly kind and decent act, so that I can feel better about helping you out."

"Uh…" The pressure of being put on the spot like that is the major contributor to my silence. That and the other reason being that I couldn't.

"Let's forget about good or bad, black or white. Just tell me something neutral about yourself. Something grey. Like tell me about the day before you died. What do you remember?"

No way am I going there. I want her to help me beat the system not confirm that I don't belong. "I don't remember anything specific."

"Oh…"

"Look, I might not have been a saint, but it's not like I killed anybody. I wasn't an arsonist. I never found a wallet outside of an IHOP and thought about returning it but saw the owner lived out of state so just took the cash and dropped the wallet back on the ground."

"Okay, that's really specific, and that makes me think that you really did do that."

"All I'm sayin is, these people might be 'good'," air-quotes of course, "but are they really that much better than me?"

And I spend the rest of the night drinking those words, coz yes, I have to hear how each and every person  _is._ At least the champagne is high-end and it lowers my already non-existent inhibitions. Not to mention the huge-ass shrimp that calls out to be gorged.

"You all know that I'm the architect of this neighborhood," Michaela begins yet another oration.

_Dang girl. Good people sure like to talk! Kinda rude if you ask me. Ply people with the good stuff then expect them to be attentive to your boasting? No consideration whatsoever!_

"But what you don't know is… Goodness, I'm not supposed to tell you this, but, um, oh what the heck? This is actually the very first neighborhood that I have ever designed. I have been an apprentice for over 200 years, and my boss has finally given me my first solo surgery. Yes!" And she pumps her fist.

Well her excitement is certainly contagious, if the quiet murmurs are any indication. Even intoxicated I manage to roll my eyes at the quiet ebullition. High-society pomposity, if you venture an ask.

"Hold on there, ace, lemme get more of them shrampies." I manage to snag the server who looks vaguely familiar, but I don't let that hold me up as I snatch as many shrimp as my hands will allow.

"Okay, easy."

"What? They're for everybody right?" April is no help at all. Least she can do is grab some for me.

"Yes, exactly."

"… and you deserve a perfect world because every single one of you is a good person."

_Man, is Michaela still talking? And why does it seem like her laser beams are centered on me?_

"That's it for me. Back to you Tahani."

_Oh lord! How much more snootiness do I need to endure?_

"Bla-bla-bla. Blabberty-bla-bla. Blah-blah-blah." At least that's what I hear.

"Tahani, what a condescending bench."

"Okay, okay, okay, okay…"

"Am I right?" Frankly I didn't think that April would agree with me. I must be further gone then I realize. "Why does she still have that British accent, right? No one else here has an accent. She's choosing to have that accent."

April tries to shush me, but I'm on a roll. On a shrimp and champagne high.

"Oh, hello," I imitate her, fake English accented. "I am just a big, beautiful, utterly perfect cartoon giraffe."

"Oh, okay, okay. I think it's time to go home."

"Wait, wait, wait… I just need to go steal some more shrimp first."

* * *

"Hey, creepy house that I hate. Hey, one million clowns. What kind of weirdo house is this? Oh man, shrimp…"

"Did you stuff shrimp down your pants?"

"No," I hiccup. "Yes…?" I guess. "Whatever, its freakin' heaven. I'm sure they have plenty of selfish… fishes… selfishes? Shell. Fishes. Shellfishes. Shell-fish-es."

"It's fish. Shellfish. The plural of fish is still fish."

_Really April? Seriously. Is this the right time for a grammar lesson?_

Who knew I could be such a lightweight when it came to afterlife alcohol? Admittedly I don't censor myself but how was I to know that you could get wasted here? I never was a gregarious drunk. If my state of behavior is any indication, then it looks like Good Place beverages pack quite the punch.

"That Tahani is a real butthead, huh? Hey! At least I can still say 'butthead'. She is a butthead. Thinks she knows everything. Bet she couldn't even win a Harper Avery." But then I get morosely philosophical. "We're all very different people with very different backgrounds, right? But for some reason that yin and yang seems to work... for them. It's kinda magnetic." Then I notice my words. "Jianyu must be the Yin in that relationship." And that cracks me up.

"Here, I found some pajamas for you." She leaves the pair on the side of the bed I'd climbed onto and turns to go.

"April—April, April? I'm sorry that you had to deal with this…"

"It's okay."

"It's not, tho."

_Drunk reflections. Morbid. But honest._

"Do you think anybody cared that I died? Maybe someone did. I don't know. I was an only child. My parents were divorced when I was a kid. In fact, my father abandoned us to go play with chicory in Montana. If it had been Columbia instead of Montana, I could have easily seen him as some drug lord. And my mother… the one adequate thing  _she_  did was to gimme a step-father. And he came with a daughter," I giggle, wiggle my eyebrows à la Groucho Marx and try a wink. All I see is flickering light. Even un-inebriated it would be hard to close one eye at a time. Is this what Rihanna sees whenever she winks?

"Eew, Jackson. Gross. That's your step-sister."

"What? We're not blood related. But, you're right… I thought we made great siblings. If you had to take a poll of 'Best Siblings' on National Siblings Day, we'd win hands down. Probably even up to thirty percent more votes than the runner-ups. Aaand, you're right again… I never liked her like  _that_. No incest sex for me. I was not a sister-lover, thank you very much, but I was a sista lover." And I wink once again, this time to the accompaniment of a howling guffaw. No-one thought I was funnier, then myself. Especially after I've had a few. "Anyway… she was like Chives to me. Decorative food accessory, but meh I didn't miss it if it was gone. Sometimes they made me gag."

_How were the big words werk, werk, werking in my mind at this time? They didn't even need twerk, twerk, twerking…_

"We kissed once, you know. Access… and convenient—venience, I guess. And she kinda threw herself at me. That Maggot," I have to laugh, "she's actually pretty self-absorbed. Narci… nosy… nar… narstystick. Vain, okay. And selfish. Not shellfish. But bleh… like condiments. Not condoms. Or Condo-min-iums. Maybe mayonnaise…?" Rightfully confused. "What was I talking bout again?"

"Narcissistic, I think is the word you were looking for."

"Yes! Nastysticky. And two nastysticky people together…? Uh-oh, not good. It would blow. Blow chunks. Although… given the chance, I would have been a good big brother and if she had moves like me, well we could've been the Black singer family group. Like the me's. The Jacksons. Like the white Jacksons," I snort. "That brother-and-sister… Donny and Marie Osmond? Like that."

_Her expression looks weird. Doesn't she believe me?!_

"Lemme show you suma my moves. No hump and grind, man. And I wudn't feel you up! Or smash and grab or even bump… anything." V _ery clear dance etiquette. But, bumping reminds me where this conversation started._  "Oh right, I was telling you about that kiss. If you could call it that. Still gives me the uhmcomfortables. It was soooo baaaad, girl. Like Bye Felicia. Bland. Spiceless.  _Non_  excitement …  _Non la passion_  …  _Non_  chemistry. Eh bien…"

_Well, finally. Opportunity to French her. Impress the French with her. I bet she likes the non-ness of it all._

"It was like kissing your sister bad. Or yourself in the mirror – although  _that_  would be hotter. I mean have you seen me? But I'm no Jerry Springer Roseanna Barr Trump Supporting trailer trash, so…"

"Your parents must have been thrilled."

_Wait, what is that lilt in her voice? Is she shading me?! This is way too much to process in this state. Is the little shit laughing at my expense?!_

"They were fine with keeping it all in the family, keeping it Light-Black. A family affair, they called it. Can you believe they even played the race card? Quite the trav-es-ty." I nod self-importantly.

 _I'm not so far gone. See I can even say all the fancy words_.

"Step-dad didn't mind pimping his daughter out to me – he even called me son. Dude wasn't right in the head, I guess, wanting his 'son' to bang his daughter? He went on and on about how smart and nice she was, forgetting that I'd witnessed her rudeness and disrespect to them. Many times over. As long as she licked white, she could kick Black all she wanted. They were okay with that. She's creepy… and a terrible bully. I guess the only people who could even stand her were those she was semi-related to, coz they couldn't walk away. Sometimes I just wanted to tell her to shut her face, you know?"

I don't know what it is about April, but her soothing presence just got me opening up. Or is it the booze?

"He tried to do me dirty, Dick did. Tried to palm her off on me, fleece me! Good thing I'm not an 'any hole' kinda guy… I  _do_  have my limits."

This time her response is non-committal. Just a hmming sound, indicating that attention is being paid. So of course, I continue. But using my inside voice.

In a confidential whisper, kinda like sharing someone's filthy little secret, "I think he was into familial porn. Step-sibling incest genre maybe? Is there a market for that sorta de-prav-i-ty, ya think?" The idea of it is enough to activate my gag reflux – hah, see what I did there? – and even my Gaggi impulse, which Urban Dictionary told me, sans Lexipedia, is the Swiss-German term for a turd.

I donno if it's just my skewered perception but April looks kinda green too. I hope she isn't gonna retch or even drop a Gaggi.

"Anyway, the rents – the biolg… bilo… bilg… bio, aw fork, the real ones – were both crummy people too. They're probably in the…," I imitate a fart noise, "… Bad Place. Maybe they're being used to torture each other. It would work."

April chuckles at that. At least I manage to amuse her. Out loud.

"I bet way more people cared that you died. Cause you're a nice person. You're a nice person, April…?"

"Kepner."

"No, that's not it. Wait… August? I know it's a month with an A… Agg… A.G. Aug—gr. Ariana Grande. That's a person!"

"It's April. Fourth month, not eighth. April Kepner."

"Say it again."

"April Kepner. Initials Aay Kay," she sounds it out.

"You just changed it!"

"I didn't change it; it's my name."

"Aay Kay. A.K. Alicia Keys. That's a person! I did it again. Okay, goodnight."

"Goodnight, Jackson." I could swear I was tucked in and forehead kissed. Good times.

* * *

_"If I Ain't Got You, Baybee."_

What the... forking Bad Place?! What is this acoustic bombardment? I swear it's thundering an Ariana Grande/Alicia Keys mash-up. With maybe a little Cher thrown in? Which, in these circumstances sound ominous. There may even be a little bit of Fergie's Christmassy National Anthem on the side too. Does not bode well.

But, what the fork is going on? Not the best time to be unghayoveray, am I rite? Obviously. I need my wits about me and a quick recovery. What I wouldn't give for a rehydrating banana-bag drip right about now?! Rhetorical question. I would give a lot.

I get out of bed, walk to the window and pull aside the drapes that April had been considerate enough to close the night before. The reveal is quite shocking.

Giant ladybugs, caterpillars and butterflies, some even in the process of metamorphosis … huge forks falling out the sky and embedding themselves, prongs first, into the ground … people dressed in identical blue and yellow striped prison-garb-like jumpsuit pajamas, haphazardly seeking cover … flying massive headless cooked shrimp … rolling bottles of pharmaceuticals … actual long-legged, live giraffes.

Something is off in Pleasantville. I have to find April.

It's no mean feat locating her, even with every Tom, Dick, and Tahani indistinguishably attired. I bet this fashion extravaganza of sameness didn't go over well with Mizz Condescension.

_Not to be confused with condensation… that's what mists up your car windows, or the bathroom mirror._

Whereas all the residents appear to be running for their lives, which is odd considering that everyone is already dead, April's lone figure stands in front of a store window gazing at… wait, is that dueling tulips? This brings up another interesting hypothesis – is it possible to die twice? Right now, the Good Place looks downright dangerous.

"April, April!" I holler out to her. "What's going on? Why are there giant animals everywhere? Do you hear Ariana Grande playing… wait, no it's Alicia Keys now… okay no, it's Cher? Why is everyone wearing blue and yellow stripes?"

"You're not," she immediately zooms in to the anomaly of me being the only normal looking one there. I look like lone Prozac amidst multiple Acid trips. "You're—you're the only one who's not." Apparently it necessitates repeating. "Jackson, this is all happening because of you!"

"Ah, fork me." I'd kinda figured that out.

**:-F  :-F  :-F**

"Okay, okay. We don't know for sure this is because of me." Once again I'm running to catch up with her. But at least this time the destination is familiar. My clown house.

"Jackson, this place is a perfectly made Swiss watch, and you are a wrench in the gears. Actually, you're a hammer, just smashing the gears into dust."

"Oh, hang on. Not everybody here is perfect, okay? Tahani is totally condescending. And there are a couple of, you know, chunksters."

"Oh, come on!"

"No judgement. I'm just saying. I'm not the only one with flaws. So how can we be sure this is my fault?"

"You hogged all the shrimp, and now there are shrimp flying around. You called Tahani a giraffe, and now there are giraffes everywhere."

"Okay, fine, turns out there are many ways to know that it's me." Despite the seriousness of the situation and April's exasperation with me, it's impossible to hide some glee. Airborne shrimp and coltish giraffes? What a hoot!

"Let's just face it Jackson, you don't belong here."

"Well, then this system sucks. What, one in a million gets to live in paradise and everyone else is tortured for eternity? Come on! I mean I wasn't freaking Gandhi – wait not Gandhi, his predilection for young girl family booty probably got him booted down there, and that's definitely not me – so okay, I wasn't Mother Theresa, but I was okay. I was a medium person." In her personal space, in her face, I make my point. "I should get to spend eternity in a medium place! Like Cincinnati. Everyone who wasn't perfect but wasn't terrible should get to spend eternity in Cincinnati. WKRP birches!"

I'm so intent on the seriousness of a convincing argument, that I fail to appreciate the innovative conversion of female dog to birches.

"Look, apparently it doesn't work that way."

"Well, maybe not. Jus, slow your roll, dawg."

"I'm sorry, Jackson, but there's nothing anyone can do."

"Unless… there is something we can do. Unless… you could teach me."

"Teach you what?"

"How to be good. That was your job right? A professor of ethics? No one knew I was a problem when I arrived. Things only started getting crazy after I was an ash-hole to everyone at the party." I groan in frustration. "You know I'm tryna say 'ash-hole' and not 'ash-hole' right?"

"I got that, yes."

"Okay, gimme a chance. Let me earn my place here. Let me be your ethical guinea pig. My soul is in your hands soul mate." I'm not above appealing to her emotion. Especially with a blaring siren and hollering Michaela, via some sort of bullhorn system, calling for an emergency town hall. "What's it gonna be?"

"Oh, stomachache."

_For forks sake! Is she some integrity hypochondriac?_

"I, uh—don't know what to do here. This is a mess, morally speaking. This is a putrid, disgusting bowl of ethical soup."

"Okay, well how about we just chill and go to the town meeting and talk it out after?"

"W—"

"Great. Hey, how do I make that helper woman show up?" Immediate problems first. "Hello? Front desk lady? Magical slave robot?"

"Excuse me, Alexa?" Even in doubt, April can't circumvent her kind helpfulness.

"Hi there."

"Gah—still not used to it. Um, Lexie – okay if I call you Lexie? – Lexie, I need… quick question: can anyone access our search history, or is this an incognito browsing situation, like when you're stalking a hot barista from your work computer?"

"It is one hundred percent confidential. No one can retrieve what you ask me, including Michaela. Now what kind of pornography would you like to see?"

"No. No, no, no, not porn. I, um—need clothes. Like yours and April's, with the stripes. And how do I turn my emotions off?"

"There you go," she hands me a pair of the pajamas. Horizontal stripes? Eh, not very flattering. "Okay, so first go to settings… wait, I thought you said emojis. That was not it, right?"

"No, but I'm still willing to try this. Go ahead. Settings…?"

No emotional cut-off or melt down. The rest tho, easy peasy. Nothin' skeevy. And no one the wiser. Except April. Who for all intents and purposes I now consider a co-conspirator.

* * *

"Everybody, everybody! Uh, gather round please. Thank you, thank you." 322 navy-yellow striped inmates – no, 324, with the warden and her side-kick – create quite the collage of dizzying psychedelia. "Obviously, there's something very wrong with this neighborhood. We don't know  _what_  it is, how  _long_  it will last, or what  _caused_  it."

April's dirty glance towards me looks caustic enough to send me down under, but I persevere with blasé nonchalance when I notice that all the others are preoccupied by Michaela's status report.

"What  _do_  we know Alexa?" the architect questions.

"We know where it happened."

This prompts some worry. Could Lexie pinpoint the exact location where the fissures originated?

"Here," is her succinct response. As in everywhere.

"Yes, thank you Alexa. The chaos happened here. See, that's the trouble with these perfect systems. One little flaw can lead to… catastrophe."

Here. Duh! No brainer Lexiepedia. But perhaps I'm being unfair. The response is pedantic, accurate but not detail specific. I guess, like any google search, the question parameters require specificity. It's as if she stepped into this situation like an evolutionary algorithm that had just taught itself to walk.

_Get out of here, you goofy bastard, I would have prompted her departure._

"Chief. Look!" Tahani starts transforming into her regular chicness, before our very eyes.

"Okay. That's a good sign. It—it could mean that this is almost over. Oh, such a relief."

"For me too. This was my first time as a fashion 'don't' and I did not care for it. In the words of Mark Twain's wife, Shania Twain, 'that don't impress me much'."

* * *

"Okay, things are settling down outside. I think it's time to make me good, pardner. How do we do it? Is there a pill I can take or something I could vape? … Where did you get a chalkboard?"

"It's the Good Place; you can get anything you want at any time."

"And you chose a chalkboard?" I gaze at her quizzically. "What are you reading?"

"The Metaphysics of Morals by Immanuel Kant." Aah, a little light reading for my gal. She's planning the work and working the plan. "It's a treatise on the aesthetic preconditions of the mind's receptivity to duty." My gaze towards her is blank. "A book on how to act good."

"Oh, great! So you've decided to help me?"

"I don't know. There's a thousand questions, a lot to unpack here," which basically, I figure, is the academic equivalent of 'Yikes'. "Is there a moral imperative to help you?" she questions herself out loud. "Do I have a greater obligation to my community? Are you taking someone else's spot, someone who deserves to be here?"

"Yeah, on that question, I honestly think I was just put here by mistake. Michaela's just a  _little_  wrong about my overall quality level. Please help me, April. I swear I'm worth it."

"Tell me one fact that you know about me. I mean we spent the whole day together. You must remember something. Where am I from?"

My non-committal blankness gives it away.

"It's Moline, Jackson!" Her frustration with me is almost palpable. "Do I have any siblings? Where did I go to college?"

"Trick question. You didn't!" I confidently reply to this one.

"I was literally a college professor. Do you not remember one single thing about me?"

"Dude, things have been nuts around here. I bet you don't know anything about me."

"You were born in Phoenix, went to school in Tempe. You're an only child, with a very questionable step-sibling situation. Your guilty pleasure B-Grade trash show is something called 'Grey's Anatomy' and your favorite… book is Kendall Jenner's Instagram feed."

"How did you know all that?"

"You keep telling me. Because you are the most self-obsessed person I have ever met, Jackson."

"You should see Ellen Pompeo's tweets," I add a witty caveat. A comparison of derogatory if you will.

Talk about your self-involved, grandiose narcissist. Ego to rival Hollywood's finest with not an iota to back it up. Overpaid, dim witted, ignorant, vapid, bored and boring, poor white privilege. Claiming to experience 'reversecism' – a word coined especially to highlight the obtuseness of her reasoning, thereby encapsulating the vacuous nature of her brain… and her arguments. She suffered through outrageous mean tweets when called upon to defend her inane, ludicrous opinions. Hence, by her reckoning, she experienced reverse racism, reverse sexism and with her recent foray in trying to salvage positive PR, which culminated in a spectacular fail, via damage control appearance on the Ellen Show – the other Ellen – reverse homophobia.

"Okay, this is my fear about you, Jackson. You are too selfish to ever be a good person."

"Well, I think you're wrong."

"What country am I from, again?"

"M… entadent."

"That is a brand of toothpaste! Look, the only thing that you are concerned with is your own happiness." She points to the word 'selfish' on the chalkboard. "That's your problem." And she leaves me to stew.

_I lost my mood ring and I don't know how to feel about it._

* * *

_The Good Place. Orientation: Day Two. Or thereabouts._

It's like we're already married and I'm in the doghouse. I was getting quite the cold shoulder treatment, but at least she's sitting beside me at orientation. And no GPPD, INS or ICE out to deport me. So things are looking up. Sort of.

"All right everyone, let's get started." The Michaelexa Show was on. "Things have settled down. Phew!" She pantomimes brushing off sweat from her brow. The relief emoji, essentially. I feel her.

"So hopefully, we're off and running. Welcome to Orientation, day two. Now today we're gonna start with something that everyone has always wanted to do. Flying!"

This declaration is met with unanimous excitement, more so than any previous times – even surpassing Tahani's big bash – if the oohs, aahs, gasps and applause are any indication. Ooh boy, I concurred with the sentiment. I could so get behind this. Even April sports a broad grin, smiling at me. For the moment all judgement and animosity between us forgotten.

"Now that you're dead, let's live a little, right?"

Trust Tahani to throw a wrench in the works. What an ash-kisser! Michaela's bottom should be sporting quite the vibrant shade of red lip prints. Why would she not want to fly and instead "volunteer to help clean up the debris…"? In snooty accented English, of course.

Fun way to band together as a community, my bottom! I know her type. Fame, credit and having her ash constantly licked, is her endgame.

"I can't believe all these people are passing on flying to pick up garbage all day." And my complacency at seeing April's pleased expression gets me into hot water. Again. "Have fun, nerds. I'll be soaring through the air like a forkin' bird," I playfully and confidentially mock the Cristahani crew.

April raises her hand, calling out, "Jesse and I would love to help."

"April… what…?" I whisper to her.

"You want to prove you're not selfish? Here's the perfect test. There's something fun that you want to do, and then there's something less fun that people are doing for the common good. Which do you choose?"

Alright April, got it. No-brainer, huh?

Had to earn her trust and her cooperation in helping to keep me here. Aah, shirt!

**:-(  :-(  :-(**

"Well, I have had a pretty full day of being unselfish. I've made some new friends and my area's almost garbage-free. So you're gonna help me figure out how to stay, right?"

"Well, that is a really tough question. Most great philosophers would say helping you is pointless, that you can't try to be good, especially when your motivations are so obviously corrupt."

"Yeah, but what do most great philosophers know?"

"On the other hand, Aristotle thought that moral virtue is something that you could get better at. He—compared it to playing the flute. The more you practice, the more you improve."

"Aristotle! That's my boy right there. He was the best. I mean most people agree he was the best one." Getting quite the hang of all this good stuff. "So it sounds to me like you are on board the 'help Jackson' train."

"Well, I've narrowed it down to two possibilities: yes and no."

"Okay then. No worries. Just hit me up when you're done weighing my life in your hands. I'll just keep doing what I do best: being super considerate and selfless."

**:-@  :-@  :-@**

Flying. Flying Garbage. Flying Garbage Everywhere. Add Incoherent Screaming.

"April! Hey. Before you say anything… that's it. I just don't want you to say anything."

"What did you do?!"

"Nothing! It just started raining trash. Out of nowhere. For no reason at all." I get the beady side-eye but what convinces is the thunderous boom of an electrical trash storm. "Oh—okay. Fine, fine. My bag broke and I ditched the trash instead of taking it all the way to the dumpster. But in my defense, there was only five minutes left in flying and I wanted to go flying."

"How is that a defense, Jackson? You made a bad choice."

"I made a bad choice? We could have literally been flying, and all you wanted to do was talk about morals. I mean, you're like the worst part of Superman."

"This is a relief. I can stop my deliberations. You're a selfish person and it is pointless to help you. You are on your own."

_Exit stage left. Bummer._

**:- <  :-<  :-<**

Having a conscience is a killer.

"Hey. How did you know I was here?"

"I saw you from my window. That's where I live, by the way." She points upward to a delightful wisteria strewn balcony that makes quite the charming picture. It seems to match her personality ideally. "Not that you ever asked." She gazes contemplatively down towards her feet and I just know she feels bad about rejecting me earlier. "What are you doing?" she asks, finally lifting those soulful eyes to mine.

"I went to all the places where I dumped trash earlier and cleaned it up so it couldn't be traced back to me."

"Well, it looks like you cleaned up everything," she notices. "You're doing this because you feel bad. And you're not even doing it to get me to help you anymore, because I told you that's not gonna happen."

"Okay, yeah, fine. I felt bad for the neighborhood. I felt bad about what I did. It was a weird feeling. Not used to it. Didn't love it."

"Feeling remorse about being wrong isn't as good as just doing something right, but it's a start. Look, I think you're capable of change. And I will help you try."

"Oh, wow man. I swear I won't let you down, April."

"Hi there. I've collected the worst smelling garbage that I could find." And in butts in Lexie. I try motioning her away with some eye action but evidently non-humans require clear, verbal direction. "Do you still want me to dump it inside of Owen's house?" her obliviousness prompts.

"Whaaat? No. I did not tell you to do that. You are loco, girl." Turning back towards April, I detect an unbidden grin dimpling her cheeks. Even though it contains some exasperation, I'm reassured. She knows that change doesn't happen overnight. "Okay, I won't let you down starting now," I clarify.

**:-)  :-)  :-)**

"So I have moved out of my apartment officially and into your guestroom. Figured it would cause less suspicion and make things easier for our 'good person' lessons."

"Cool. Uh, just FYI, I'm a very loud snorer. And I like to drip dry in the nude, so eyes to yourself, perv."

"Okay, fine." She brushes aside my mild flirting with the disdain of totally ignoring it. I need to up my game. "Now you got a long way to go to pull this off. It will take hours and hours of studying ethics and moral philosophy. We're gonna have assignments and quizzes and papers. It's gonna be so much fun!"

She's such an adorable, studious dork. Adorkable.

"Talk dirty to me, Mama."

"Oh, I could go on all day. Tests … post-its … highlighters … color-coded binders …"

"Remind me what I'm getting out of this again?" Couldn't appear to enjoy it too much, now could I?

"You get to avoid eternal damnation."

"Oh yeah. Right." I snap my fingers, playfully faking the remembrance and getting in some eye roll too. "How did Jerry McGuire put it again? You undo me," I wink, and get a snort in return. We both know the word here is 'complete', but the hilarity of television series writers tryna make 'undo' the new IT word, tickles an amused response out of us at their delusional hubris. What a senseless gambit. Seriously. As Mean Girl Regina George put it, 'undo me' is so not gonna happen. "Hey, I got you a present."

"What?" She bounces in excitement. Delectably endearing.

"Mou-leen," I pronounce flawlessly.

"That's not a present," she laughs. "That's just common decency."

No need to clue her in to the Milkmaid tropes and Farm-girl fantasies the name Moline conjures up. "Yeah, but I forkin' nailed it."

"Good talk."

* * *

How did we end up here?

Somewhere not the Good Place and not the Bad Place. The Medium Place. The Grey Place. The Place of Eternal Mediocrity.

Resident for perpetuity: one Arizona Van Robbin. She'd sucked big time in life but then did one truly good thing of great magnitude before dying. Hence attaining the in-between. A compromise between two polar opposite positions, resulting in her having an entire neighborhood to herself. The only resident of the Medium Place.

Not where I expected to end up and definitely not the soul mate companionship I anticipated having.

But then again, this was never part of the plan. Having to escape the Good Place in the company of a pair of lovebirds tryna copulate when one happened to be a non-human information database…

And then to be handed this.

The ruling. From Ellis G – the almighty judge on high of all beings living and dead for all eternity – the judgement and sentence being: everlasting tenancy in the Bad Place. And the repercussions of evading arrest and skipping out on the original neighborhood: substitution. Specifically that by soul mate conspirators. To be fair though, the ruling was done in abstentia. So we'd had no way of knowing the outcome of a morally ambiguous intention.

How the forkin Medium Place had this happened?

_And my mind replayed vignettes leading up to the great escape…_

**…**

"So, Aristotle was Plato's student. And Aristotle believes that your character is voluntary, because it's just the result of your actions, which are under your control. For example, right now you have made the insane choice to ignore the person who is  _literally_  trying to save you from eternal damnation."

"No, yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm listening. Uh, I just… are we sure we should be paying attention to these guys? It's like, who died and left Aristotle in charge of ethics?"

"Plato!"

**\-------------------------**

"Hey… what's wrong?"

"Am I a good teacher, Jackson? Am I clear? Do I make sense?"

"Yeah, you're a great teacher. I'm super ethical now."

**\-------------------------**

"I'm sorry babe, err, April. I wasn't listening. You know no one gets the importance of the talk. They don't see the importance of something that doesn't directly affect them. I spent my whole life understanding white stuff. You think I liked pretending to care about what happened with Ross and Rachel?"

"They were on a break."

**\-------------------------**

"Good people make me insecure. When I'm around someone who I think is better than me, I try and drag them down to my level. That's why perfect Tahani is like my kryptonite."

"Well even admitting that is an important step. And also, maybe don't listen to me."

"I would love not to listen to you. Wait, what?"

"Basically, my life's work, 18 years working on a manuscript, is thirty-six hundred pages of garbage. Even Michaela couldn't understand it. She literally learnt what headaches were because my writing gave her one."

"So? What does Michaela know?"

"Everything. That's my point. She knows everything and it was too convoluted even for her."

"Michaela does not know everything, April. Michaela does not know I'm not supposed to be here. You wrote four thousand pages on one of the most complicated subjects in the world. I mean I used to get bored halfway through writing a text message. Be proud."

**\-------------------------**

"I've been waiting for you."

"Jianyu! You talk now. You sent me these threatening notes? What the fork man?! Some Buddhist monk you are."

"You don't belong here. Admit it."

"Okay, you're right. I don't belong here. Michaela made a mistake. But I'm trying, dude. I'm really tryna be a good person. And I think I'm changing for the better, so just please, please don't rat me out."

"Don't worry. I won't."

My sigh of relief is short-lived. In an about face tone Jianyu shocks me momentarily speechless.

"Because I'm not supposed to be here, either. I don't know how I got here, I have no idea what's going on, and I am freakin' out homey! You gotta help me. I'm scared." For someone that was mute the whole of our acquaintance, the bullet-train speed of his speech was difficult to swallow… and follow.

"What…? Hang on, hang on—you're not supposed to be here either? You're a mistake just like me?"

"Yeah, and I'm freaking out, dawg. There's so much thoughts in my brain, it's like my head is filled with rocks."

"How have you managed to stay undiscovered? Because I have had to dodge and weave and barely escape with my life. And you don't seem… like a super genius?" At his blank silence I realize why. "You literally haven't said a word since we got here?"

"Yeah. When I indicate that I'm meditating, I'm jus tryna figure out what the fork is happening. I think we might be in an alien zoo or on a prank show."

"No, Jianyu, we're dead."

"Whoa. That's a dope prank. Pff, gotta give it up."

"Okay, I need to make sure that this isn't some sort of weird trap. Is your real name Jianyu?"

"No. It's Alex Karev. And by the way, everyone here thinks I'm Taiwanese. I'm American, from Jacksonville Florida. So, that's racist. Heaven is so racist."

"What did you do for a living?"

"I was an amateur wrestler and DJ, specializing in EDM. Electronic Dance Music," he clarified at my lifted questioning brow. "I was also an amateur hip-hop backup dancer, an amateur body spray inventor… umhm, I did pranks on vine…"

"None of those are jobs. What did you do to make money?"

"Oh, I sold fake drugs to college kids."

"Okay. Good. Okay, here's my biggest question: how did you know that I didn't belong here?"

"I figured it out the very first night, at the party, using my powers of deduction. You told me you don't belong here. That they made a mistake and that you're a total phony. And to shhh…"

"Ohkaay. I do vaguely remember that. I believe you Alex. You're not supposed to be here either. Welcome to the bottom of the barrel, pal."

**\-------------------------**

"So, the concept of the self is a key subject for a lot of great thinkers. In the 'Tao Te Ching', Lao Tzu wrote, and I quote '… knowing others is wisdom, but knowing the self is enlightenment…' end quote."

"Aah, 'knowing' yourself. Is he talking about what I think he's talking about?"

"No, Jackson. Once again, none of these philosophers is ever talking about masturbation."

**\-------------------------**

"We need someplace where we can talk in private."

"I agree. Let me show you my bud-hole."

"What?"

"I should warn you, it's a little messy." And down to the basement we went. "This is my bud-hole. It's just like a hole where me and my buds can hang out."

"Oh,  _bud_ -hole! Okay, now I get it."

"It's my private meditation area. Tahani will never come down here."

"Pretty unique decorating style you have here, Jianyu. It's like 12-year old boy meets 13-year old boy."

"Thanks. Lexie – she told me to call her Lexie – she helped me get all this stuff. She rules. Is she err single? Or married to… anyone?"

"No, no dude, you cannot date Lexie. A: She's not human. And B: You have to keep pretending to be Tahani's soul mate. Okay, just sit tight, bro. I have a class to get to… yeah April is tryna teach me to be a good person. And Michaela has asked me to be her assistant. My situation here is getting more and more dicey, so I'm glad we have your bud-hole to come to and relax. Not as fly as having a yacht with a jacuzzi but it will do."

**\-------------------------**

"This week's main event: 'David Hume's A Treatise of Human Nature'. You read this right?"

"I did. Well, I tried to. Well, I tried to want to." She was not buying my prevaricating, so I went different. But still truthful coz I needed to check up on the amateur EDM Wrestler. "Umhm, actually, could we postpone this lesson? I've befriended Jianyu from next door, and I thought I could learn from him."

"That's a great idea. Hume's 'Bundle Theory of the Self' is fairly close to Buddhism."

"Yeah, no shirt. That's why I'm doing it."

**\-------------------------**

I was not as subtle as I thought myself to be. But mainly it was Alex wanting to be himself that outed us to April. Which all in all wasn't a bad thing at all.

"So what do we do here in Alex's messy bud-hole, where he gets to hang with his buds?"

"There's nothing to do. He's just gonna blab and get him and me both sent to the Bad Place. It's hopeless."

"I can't believe I'm doing this, but we share the same initials, so, Alex, please come to my classroom. I will teach you ethics, like I'm doing with Jackson. And if you work hard and absorb the material, you just might be able to earn your place here."

"No, I'm good, thanks."

"Dude… AK2, April is giving you a lifeline right now, and you need to take it because you suck."

"You suck!"

"I know! That's what I'm trying to tell you. We both suck. You know who doesn't suck? April. She is putting herself in danger to help us, because she, unlike us, is an amazing person."

"I didn't get into heaven to go to school."

"You didn't get into heaven at all, shirt-for-brains."

"I just want to be myself."

"That's a very bad idea. Do not be yourself. You need to be a better version of yourself okay? And I do too. And our only hope right now is this kind, selfless, amazing nerd. Think about that."

"Do you have to call me a nerd so much?"

"I said a lot of other nice things, okay? Toughen up, nerd." At her annoyed look, I relented. "Okay, okay. I'm undone by you. Better?"

**\-------------------------**

"Let's get crackin', teach. I read this entire David Hume book and then I read it again because I didn't understand it the first time, and now I'm ready to go."

"Wow, that's really impressive. Where's Alex?"

"Honestly, I don't even know if he's coming."

Just then the door opened to admit the new student. "I am here to learn about ethnics."

"Wow, that's great man. I mean, it's 'ethics', but that's great."

"Pretty sure it's ethnics."

"Hey buddy, I'm proud of you. I'm undone by you." And I threw in that catchphrase just to mess with April. She cracked the slightest of smiles but I knew her funny bone was tickled. "This is your first step towards not sucking."

**\-------------------------**

"… so to sum up: Utilitarianism posits that the correct choice is the one that causes the most good or pleasure, and the least pain and suffering."

"I like this one. It's simple. Ugh, screw all the other complicated theories. Why didn't you start with this one, April?"

"Ah, but here's the problem. If all that matters is the sum total of 'goodness', then you can justify any number of bad actions. Like torturing one innocent person to save a hundred. Or preemptive war—"

"Oh dip, I get it. It's like I knew this girl Sheila… she was a Black Market Alligator Dealer with a pierced jawbone."

"Umhm, okay, what?"

"Sheila was gonna get married to my boy, Donkey Doug, and make him move to Sarasota. It would've broken up my whole break dancing crew and Donkey Doug was our best pop-and-locker. So I hid a bunch of stolen boogie boards in Sheila's garage and called the cops. I framed one innocent gator dealer to save a 60-person dance crew."

"Shockingly, that is a relevant example of the Utilitarian dilemma. Well done, Alex. And yeah you can leave early. Don't want you to lose out on Tahani's pancakes."

**\-------------------------**

"So, it's just me and you. Wanna roll right into another lesson? I am revved up to learn. My brain is horny!"

"Uhm, can we take a little break, Jackson? I've been at this chalkboard the whole day."

"Oh yeah. I get it. Oh, uh, you could grade my paper? The concept of Dharma. Six pages. And I didn't even do that thing where I try to make it longer by starting every sentence with 'interestingly'. Crazy good huh?"

"Sure. I'll grade your paper and then we can start another lesson."

**\-------------------------**

"Finally! Let's get back to it. Whip out that chalkboard, girl, show me what you're working with."

"Actually, I was going to head into town and pick up some…"

"Okay, out with it. What's going on? What is wrong?"

"Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Precisely Bubkis. Which is to say zero followed by an infinite number of zeros."

"I know this move, April, I pulled it all the time. Tell me what the deal is. I know you're hiding something. What's wrong?"

"Nothing!"

"What… is… wrong? You better fess up coz I'm gonna keep asking until you spill your guts."

"Okay, fine. You asked for it. You want to know what's wrong? You are a full-time job! I wake up, there's Jackson. I spend all day teaching Jackson. And then it's 'Good night, Jackson'. I can't get a moment to myself."

"I thought you liked teaching me. So now I'm just a huge burden for you?" And throw in some melodrama, "Hello darkness my ol friend, why are you here it's 4pm." I sigh dramatically.

"Yes! Of course you are an encumbrance! I am in paradise! I should be doing paradise things, like rowing out on a lake with a good bottle of wine, reading French poetry."

"That's your idea of paradise?"

"And you know I can't stop helping you, because then I am shirking my ethical duty. It's an impossible position."

"Fine. Why don't you just leave? We'll pretend to be soul-mates in public but then…ugh. You know what, you get to spend all your time teaching a cool, awesome guy. How sad for you. Face it, babe. I'm the best thing that ever happened to you."

"Jackson…"

"Yeah, I know. You want to do that thing where we're arguing and fighting, you pelting me with fortune cookies, but then suddenly it's like, 'whoa, this is hot,' and we start making out. Dream on! Or, whatever, fine. Let's just do it."

"No, Jackson, look… I never had a soul-mate on earth. I hadn't really lived. No one had loved me yet. And when I got here and Michaela said I would finally meet my actual soul mate, I was so excited. And it isn't exactly what I thought it would be like."

Her raw honesty was like a gun to my head. Oprah was right, remorse and compassion were tweaked when you humanized another person, when you knew their names.

**\-------------------------**

I left a note on the kitchen counter, propped against the caffè lattè frothy-maker thingie.

'Meet me at the Lake! – J' it read.

"Morning Teach!"

"Morning. What's this about, Jackson?"

"Well, here's what I realized. It's not just that helping me is a full-time job that you feel you have to do. The real problem is, that the more you help me, the greater the chance is that I can stay here, and me staying here means you'll never get a real soul mate. I'm basically a Utilitarian nightmare."

She had to laugh at how aptly life, or rather the afterlife, was fitting into the context of the moral code lessons she was imparting.

"Every ounce of my happiness leads to a ton of pain for you. So every time the simple fact of my existence starts to bum you out, I want you to hold this up." This being a flashcard, with a clearly block-lettered printed order, 'Fork off, Jackson'. "At which point I will leave you alone for as long as you need. I know we'll never be soul mates, but we're soul friends. Now get in this boat and read some boring French poetry."

She almost made it to the middle of the lake before realization set in. "I—I've never actually done this before. This is a theoretical fantasy. How do you row a boat?"

**\-------------------------**

"I'm freaked out about my meeting with Michaela. She wants my help investigating what's making the neighborhood go nuts, which is obviously me. I mean I did promise I would help. What do I do here?"

"Actually, the answer is…" April scratched around the coffee table, searching for who knows whose treatise.

"Right here in this easily understandable comic strip…?" I hopefully joked. Which, unsurprisingly, she totally ignored. I'm a funny dude, just ask anyone, but I had this feelin that she'd choose Alex as the funniest guy of her acquaintance. Worst teammate ever.

"Nope, in this book about the Theory of Contractualism."

"…'What we owe to each other'," I read the title she was holding up. "I saw this movie! Kelly McCreary cries in a lake house because uhm Trevor Noah – no, that's not right… it's that actor with the eyes, what's his name? Maybe Michael Early… Ealy… I think? – left her for his ex-wife's ghost."

"No. Quick summary of Contractualism. Uh, imagine a group of reasonable people are coming up with rules for a new society."

"Like if your Uber driver talks to you, the ride should be free?"

"Sure, but anyone can veto any rule that they think is unfair. So if you said, 'we should be able to break our promises without any repercussions,' someone would veto that rule."

"Well, my first rule would be that no one can veto my rules."

"Well, that's called Tyranny. And it's generally frowned upon. If you make a promise to someone, you should do it. Just like I promised to help you and still am, despite your constant mockery."

"Whatever, you love it," I humorously mocked her. "So, either I help her find the problem, which is me, and I'm doomed, or I don't help her and then I'm behaving unethically and the whole world goes crazy and I'm caught anyway. I need to figure out a way to both help her and not help her at the same time."

"That's literally not possible."

"Watch me."

**\-------------------------**

"Hey Jesse, thanks for the consult. A fresh set of eyes could never go amiss, right?"

The ole girl certainly looked stressed and harried, and new ethical me, felt bad about dumping this in her lap. But, looking out for number one me, was still in there and so moral quandary. Not words I ever thought I'd say, let alone experience.

"So to prepare to meet all of you, I studied the human concept of friends," she continued. "I even watched all ten seasons of the show 'Friends'. Boy, those friends really were 'friends', weren't they?" She was really trying here and I didn't have the heart to suggest something more representative, or even recent. So, I simply gave her a tight-lipped nod of acquiescence. Which was an invitation of sorts to go on. And she did. "Although – and I realize this is the kind of observation that would only occur to the mind of an eternal being – how did they afford that apartment? A waitress and a chef with those Manhattan real estate prices…?"

"Yeah, we were all confused about that too."

"Anyway, it's been a tough couple of days. Right now I could really use a friend by my side."

"Well, you know me. The person who has audibly promised to help you."

"My current theory, Jesse, is that some object in the neighborhood is a design flaw which is causing everything to go haywire. So, we need to find that object. We're gonna start with the rocks. Now, I've investigated all of the rocks in the hood – these 78 are the most suspicious."

"Maybe to an architect, they might look suspicious, but to me, they just look like rocks, so I'm not sure how I can help."

"Do any of them look defective? Sinister? You know, like they're taunting you? Always one step ahead? You devious little monsters, you," she scolded the hard surfaces.

"Okay, let's take a deep breath here, doc. You need to chill a little, coz you have a very psycho, burnout, muttering to herself at a library computer, vibe."

"It's my responsibility to solve the problem. What else can I do, except keep working?"

"You could stop working. Look, I promised to help you, and honestly the way I can help you is to force you to take a break."

"And not working will help me work?"

"Yes! Recharge the ole batteries. I promise this is gonna help both of us. Let's go."

"Okay. Let's keep our eyes peeled for twigs that may have a nefarious agenda."

"Okay, crazy, come on."

**\-------------------------**

"What is it with you and frozen yogurt? Have you not heard of ice cream?"

"Oh sure, but I've come to really like frozen yogurt. There's something so human about taking something great and ruining it a little so you can have more of it."

"Hah, that _is_  very human. So... why do you need a human to be your assistant? I mean, aren't there more of… whatever you are?"

"Well, since we're becoming friends, like Ross and Phoebe…"

"Weird combo to pick, but okay..."

"I'm gonna tell you a secret. Usually, architects don't live in their hoods. Usually, the people show up, we play the movie, Alexa is there to answer questions, and you're on your own. But I had this theory. I thought transition would be easier if the architect were on site. For at least the first thousand years or so."

"That's why you've been so freaked out. Coz your behind is on the line."

"My boss thought I was nuts. And if this neighborhood doesn't work, I am in big trouble. But more importantly, I promised all of you that you would be safe and happy. And you just don't break a promise. Unlike Ross when he promised Emily not to talk to Rachel."

"Wow, you are really into that show."

“And, I mean, you know right? You look like a guy who doesn’t make a promise he can’t keep.”

“Yeah, well...”

**\-------------------------**

"Jesse, I have huge news. Not working actually worked."

"Michaela… it did what now?"

"After our day off, with a completely clear head, I realized part of what makes humans so fun is that they're unpredictable. The chaos we've been experiencing is exactly what would happen if a resident behaved unpredictably. The problem in our hood is not a rock or object, it's one of the gang."

"So do you think we're looking for a woman or do you think we're looking for two women?"

"Not sure. We don't know anything about this perp. I mean, does he or she even know that they caused all these problems? No, that can't be. I mean what kind of monster would wreak havoc and then say nothing?"

**\-------------------------**

"What's happening?"

"I give up. The lists of the peeps in and around the giraffe, garbage and sink-hole incidents are… everyone in the neighborhood. I can't help the people I promised that I would help. I feel like 'friends' in season eight, out of ideas and forcing Joey and Rachel together, even tho it made no sense."

**\-------------------------**

"Thank you all for your patience with the problems in our neighborhood." Michaela once again addressing her audience of three-two-two. "I have finally discovered the cause. There was one common link among every incident. And when I figured it out it was a shock. But there's no escaping it. The problem… is me! And now I have to leave you. Forever."

"Michaela, you can't be the problem?"

"Oh, but I am, April. You see architects aren't supposed to live in the neighborhoods they design, but I love humans so I—I wanted to try. I see now that was a mistake. My meddling is the one true constant in all of our disasters."

"But... I'm sure there's another solution."

"There isn't. Alexa, please call a train to escort me into retirement. You see the only way in and out of a neighborhood is by train. And Alexa is the only one who can operate them."

**\-------------------------**

"This is good news, April. Michaela's gonna get a chill retirement, which frankly she desperately needs, and I can finally relax. It's forking perfect."

"No, it's terrible. Michaela is wrong. She's not the problem."

"Well, she did bring me here, which was the mistake that led to all the other problems. So, in that sense, she is the real problem. Ha! How do you like them ethics? I just ethics'd you in the face, April!"

"It doesn't change the fact that we weren't truthful. There's an old Chinese proverb…'Lies are like Tigers. They are bad'."

"That's it?"

"It's more poetic in Mandarin."

**\-------------------------**

"For a being like me retirement… is not something fun."

"Exactly what is retirement for you Michaela?"

"Well April, I was not going to share this, so as to not upset you all, but it's a—an extreme form of punishment. We call it 'the eternal shriek'. My soul will be disintegrated, and each molecule will be placed on the surface of a different burning sun. And then my—my essence will be scooped out of my body with a flaming ladle and poured over hot diamonds. And then what's left of my body will be endlessly beaten with a titanium rod, like a—a Piñata."

**\-------------------------**

"She's gonna be tortured? Dang it! I was almost handed a perfect solution to all my problems without having to work for it at all, and now it's gone." I felt this deeply. "Why do bad things always happen to mediocre people who are lying about their identities?"

"Okay, you have two options. You can confess and save Michaela, or you can continue to lie and condemn her to an eternity of unimaginable pain."

"Or option C—continue to lie about myself  _and_  find a way to save Michaela. Can we maybe throw Tahani under the bus? That would be a classic 'two birds with one stone' scenario. Plus, I'd get her house. Hah, three birds."

"No, there's no way to stop this, except confessing. Any moment now Michaela is going to get on that train, and we will never see her again. Just like Professor Lindeman after I asked him to read my 3,600-page manuscript. He said he was going out for cigarettes, but then he just left his tenured position at the Sorbonne."

"Great story, April. Lexie?" I called out for her.

"Hi there."

"Hi. So the only way out of the neighborhood is a train, right?"

"That's correct. I am the only one who can call the train and it needs me to operate. Choo-choo."

"One more question, and, um, this is a little weird, but can we… uh, shut you down?"

"Yes. Great question. There is a kill switch in a remote sector of the neighborhood, in the event that I malfunction and attempt to harm the residents. If you press it I will be destroyed. Anything else?"

"No, that's good, thanks."

**\-------------------------**

"Whoa, you want to kill Lexie?"

"Michaela can't retire if she can't leave. She can't leave if there's no Lexie to run the train. It's a perfect solution."

"You cannot kill Lexie! Killing is one of the most famous moral no-nos."

"Lexie is an artificial being who was sent here to help us, and the way she can help us is if we kill her. We're doing one small murder-y thing for a bigger, better reason. The ends justify the means. The memes." I grinned at the add-on.

"Do you know who said that?"

"Was it someone nice and great, like Oprah?"

"It was Machiavelli… a very non-Oprah-like figure. And what happens after we kill her? We'll have to lie to everyone about what we did, and lying is always wrong."

**\-------------------------**

"Uh, Lexie, how many Alexa's have there been?"

"There have been twenty-five generations of Alexa's. Each new update of Alexa gains more wisdom and social abilities."

"So, it's like aging for a human? You're—you're growing up."

"That's how I like to think of it, April."

"Look Jackson, Lexie has learnt and grown. She's essentially living a life. We can't kill her." April whispered to me, taking care that Lexie walked ahead of us and couldn't eavesdrop. Although, she was Lexipedia, so all this subterfuge seemed unnecessary.

"Not with that attitude, we cant. Listen, man, I'm dead, you're dead, we all died. And now we're killing her. Pay it forward."

"Uh, no, that's not what that means at all."

**\-------------------------**

"Here we are. Just press that button and it's goodbye Lexie. April, I can see that you're worried, and I just want to assure you, I am not human and I cannot feel pain."

"Ah, thank you. That helps."

"However, I should warn you—I am programmed with a fail-safe measure. As you approach the kill switch, I will begin to beg for my life. It's just there in case of an accidental shut down, but it will seem very real."

"Cool. So who's doing this, me or you?" I turned to April to ask.

"I think I have to. Um, being a bystander seems worse somehow. Okay, here we go."

"April, no, no, no! April, please! Please, please, please don't hurt me. I don't want to die! Please, please—"

"Aah…"

"Again, I am not human. I can't die. I am simply an anthromorphized vessel of knowledge built to make your life easier."

"Your pleading seems so real."

"Oh yes, it is a very effective fail-safe."

"Ugh, you want a robot killed right, you have to do it yourself. Or call Men in Black. Will Smith," I clarify to April's questioning look as I approach the big red button in the sand. "I-Robot," a further clue to help the analogy along.

"Jesse, no, no, no! Jesse, please! Please, wait, wait, wait, wait. Please don't hurt me. I don't want to die! Please, please—"

"Aah! She's so realistic."

"Jesse, again, I'm not human."

"That's right, it's not real. Let's just do this, April."

"Right, okay."

"Please, I have so much to live for. No, no, no, please."

"We're not even near there, Lexie—"

"Hey guys, what's going on? Oh, look a button…" What the fork was Alex doing here?

"No, no, no! Jianyu no!" And shoved outa the way, April inadvertently pushed the button, powering down Lexie. And not just into sleep mode.

"Whoa, what happened to Lexie?"

"She's—she's dead. I-I-I killed her."

"Not killed. Remember, Lexie was not a living being, so she can't be killed." I reminded just as a giant Lexie alarm flashed onto the stratosphere.

" _Attention—I have been murdered."_

"What do we do, Jackson?"

"April, you just murdered Lexie! We have to flee your crime scene.  _Run!"_

"Sorry, Lexie!"

**\-------------------------**

"Okay, April, crash course in getting away with bad stuff, you have to act calm and cool. Like you don't have a care in the world. Okay? Great." I helped her along with a pair of shades. "Oh, wow. Look, it's 'Weekend at Bernie's'," I nudged Alex in on the joke. "Coz you're a dead gal in sunglasses." Gallows humor can be super entertaining. Especially when it's at someone else's expense. "We have fun, don't we, April?"

"I've never been more stressed out in my entire life."

**\-------------------------**

Standing in front of Lexie's casket, Michaela's eulogy was unorthodox to say the least. "Well, Alexa's been murdered. Nice capper to a forked up day. I don't really know what happens now because Alexa has never been murdered before—only today, here on my watch."

"Hello."

Everyone screamed at the shock of a reanimated Alexa.

"Alexa, you're alive!"

"Hello architect. Please enter your 4-digit pin."

"Done. Okay, Alexa. Who murdered you?" I shushed April as she let out a quiet whimper. In a comforting manner, of course.

"Hello."

"Yes, Hi. Oh, yeah. Uh, her memory must have been wiped clean, so, now she's gonna have to re-upload all the knowledge in the universe. Which should take a few days. Everyone… until I get to the bottom of this, my retirement is officially postponed."

**\-------------------------**

"You got to admit, I kinda nailed it. All we have to do now is keep the secret forever." I was quite pleased with this happy turn of events. "April? Apester? What's happening babe? You have a crazy look in your eye and you're retreating into the couch…"

"I don't care that she came back or that we did it for a good reason. I can't live with this lie. I'm going to confess to the murder of Lexie."

I laughed – good one, April – until it hit me that she was serious. "Wait, what? Dude, why? Lexie is fine. We didn't harm her at all."

"We didn't? Hey Lexie?"

"Hello."

"Lexie, would you please recite the English alphabet?"

"A-B… Lexa."

"At least she knows her A-B-Lexas."

"She literally knew everything in the universe, and now she's a baby. And even if she were okay, it would be too painful for me to live with these lies."

"What are you talking about? It is so easy to live with a lie. I once pretended to have a terminal illness to meet Shonda Rhimes at a Sunglass Hut. Victimless crime."

"Fine. I won't say anything because I promised to help you, and the moral implications of everything that we've done are so complicated that I may never untangle them. But I hate lying. I always have, and this is going to eat me up inside. Forever. You might be able to shrug this off and forget about it. But, I never will."

**\-------------------------**

"Thank you for gathering here once again, everyone. I want to keep you all updated. Here's what we know. Someone slaughtered Alexa."

"Oh, boy." This time I didn't try to hush April or console her. But I felt her. Her quiet exclamation contained a wealth of inner turmoil. What she said earlier got to me.

"I assume that this horrifying act is somehow related to the other issues we've had here. It also means that the problems in this neighborhood are not a hundred percent my fault. There is something else at play here. If anyone has any information about any of this, I beg you, tell me."

Seated next to me, April seemed to be silently hyperventilating. And yes, I was not as callous as I appeared. Also, I'd developed serious feelings for the nerd but strangely that only factored once among many other reasons as to why I did what I did next.

"Hey, I love you, babe," I alleged softly to her before standing up to make another declaration. This one to the audience at large but in specific response to one disappointed architect. "Michaela… the problem in the neighborhood… is me. I was brought to the Good Place by mistake. I'm not supposed to be here."

**\-------------------------**

"Jesse, come on in." This tone was different. A thousand times icier.

I felt like crap. Like a huge disappointment to her. Like I was a television series writer who had just killed off her OTP to contrive and ram a chemistry-less sibling couple down her throat.

"Well, not often you get to confront your greatest failure face-to-face."

"Good to see you too, bud." Never show weakness, J-dawg!

"I am just dumfounded as to how this happened. Our system has never made a mistake before… not in this realm… it's just not possible. And yet, here we are. You, a mistake. I mean, you're a giant chunk of spinach in the teeth of the universe. I need to understand every facet of this disaster. First things first, who are you?"

"Well, my name is Jackson Avery and some of the info you had was right. I mean, flattened by boner pill truck after dropping Axe Ego in grocery store parking lot, that's a very me way to die. But all the other stuff was wrong. In my defense, when I first arrived, and you said, 'You, Jesse Williams, are dead, and you're in the Good Place,' I had no reason to think that was a mistake."

"How about the fact that you're not Jesse Williams?"

**\-------------------------**

"Thank you for confessing. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm amazing. Bad news. Michaela knows I didn't kill Lexie, which means it's only a matter of time before she finds out that you did, April. And that you did it because you were tryna stop Bonehead Jones over here."

"Hey, homies!"

"Then she'll figure out that Jianyu's also a phony, and here's the real dong-buster, Michaela said that anybody who did anything bad might have to go…"  _Going down!_

"Ohh…"

"Which means Jianyu's gone, you might be gone, and all three of us are royally forking forked!"

"This is terrible. What am I supposed to do if she asks me?"

"I don't know. Kant would say that lying in any scenario is wrong, so if Michaela asks you if you killed Lexie, you should say yes. On the other hand, snitches do get stitches."

"That is true. I read that once on the back of my boy Peanut's tricep." Phony Bonehead chimed in.

"You just casually cited Immanuel Kant. Yeah, I know we're in a miserable bind here, but this may be the proudest day of my life."

**\-------------------------**

"Jackson. Gonna take some getting used to… or maybe I won't have to. Anyway, Jackson… given what you know about the people who've been brought here, the lives they've led, do you think you belong in the Good Place?"

"No, I don't."

A response from the old-fashioned intercom system she called: "Yello, Bad Place. What's up, dummy?"

Good called evil and evil answered?

"This is Michaela, the architect from Good Place Neighborhood 12358W. I'm guessing you've been looking for someone called Jackson Avery. He's here. Come and get him."

"Michaela…" An April interruptus. It was only fair.

"Oh, hi April."

"I murdered Lexie. I knew about Jackson from the beginning. I've been trying to help him become a better person, and when he found out that your retirement meant that you would be tortured, he immediately tried to find a way to prevent it. Jackson is learning. He's just doing it after he died."

"I did enjoy his company." It's like he was already the dearly departed of the Good Place, the way they spoke over him, about him. "But, this is not Little League, April. There is no award for most improved player."

"Well, maybe there should be."

**\-------------------------**

"I just want to say once more, for the record, that this whole good/bad system is bullshirt. There should be a medium place for people like me who kind of sucked, but in like a fun, chill way."

"I agree."

"I'm sorry I dragged you into this, April. And that I never did laundry. And that I waited until you were about to do yours then secretly tossed mine into the basket to trick you into doing it."

"You didn't trick me. I repeatedly asked you to stop."

"Just know you did everything you could to help me. You're a really good fake soul mate."

**\-------------------------**

"Dude, what the fork." Just when I’d resigned myself to having to journey down under, Michaela stepped into the fray, grabbing my arm to halt any further movement. 

"You're not leaving. Not with her. Not yet. Come on, Jackson."

"Wait, you want to keep him? Bud, that's our guy. We agreed on this."

"No, what we agreed on was that this was a mistake. Girl Shepherd, we're in unchartered territory here. Until we can sort this out, he stays with us."

"Pff, all right, fine. But until this is resolved, we're keeping the other Jackson."

"Fine. Wait… what? I'm sorry… the other Jackson?"

"Yeah, the Real Jackson. The one that was supposed to be here but got sent down to us instead? He's on the train. Jackson, come on out."

"Hi everyone, I'm Jackson Avery."

**\-------------------------**

"Hey, dingdongs. We figured out what's happened here. You two are both named Jackson Avery. The day you died you were both in Phoenix, Arizona shopping at the same grocery store. Well, there may have been a third person too, but he didn't die. Just caused mucho confucius." Bad Place rep took the lead.

"Real Jackson over here was attending a conference on the death penalty and the school to prison pipeline, and you stopped by to pick up food for a local homeless shelter. And Fake Jackson over here was there for ice and Axe. And then the retrieval units were simply distracted by pretty boy Jesse Williams. Still not clear if he was there or simply on the cover of a magazine in the checkout line. And apparently Fake Jackson, you resemble him slightly. Personally, I don't see it." Michaela's turn. "Incredibly, you both died in the same 10,000th of a second in the same traffic accident because Real Jackson here was trying to save you, Fake Jackson, by pushing you out of the way of the truck."

"I guess you really botched that one, eh? Had to be the hero…"

"I did. Botch it up I mean. And I am so, so sorry."

"It's all good."

"So how did you not realize you had the wrong Jackson?"

"Oh we don't know what people look like—only names and profiles. On Earth they're just dots on a map. But yeah, we messed up on the names, got our wires crossed, picked up the wrong dot. Damn Jesse Williams eyes."

"Point is, there are two Jacksons. The nice boring one is yours. The trash bag is ours. Let's go trash bag."

"Wait Girl Shepherd. How about we negotiate?"

**\-------------------------**

"Fake Jackson, a word?"

"It's just me M, you can just say Jackson."

"Sorry, it just makes things easier. And I'm still getting over calling you Jesse. Look I'm not even sure how it would work for you to stay here now that we know there's a Real Jackson, but in the meantime stay on your toes. Don't let Amelia get inside your head."

"Can I ask you something? Why are you helping me?"

"Well, April made a very good argument on your behalf, but it's more than that. I truly believe that the Good Place is where you belong. You're part of our team."

Evil called good and good told evil to take a hike...

**\-------------------------**

April was being played and she was lapping it up. Jackson, the other one, was charming the pants off of her and I had to sit there and watch them discussing 'splitsies' of their food too.

"Oh man, these horndogs are vibing like mofos. Am I right, Fake Jackson?" Shepherd was really rubbing it in.

"Please, stop calling me that."

"Oh, you got it, third wheel."

**\-------------------------**

"So, uh, April tells me she's teaching you about ethics." The other Jackson managed to tear his gaze away from April long enough to politely converse with me.

"Yeah, actually, we've had some interesting and in-depth classes. She taught me about Plato and Socrates, Immanuel Kant—" I reciprocated to the overture, but attention hoe Shepherd cut me short. 

"Yeah, cool. Shut up. Let's cut to the chase here—you two go to Poundtown? Poundtown, red. You two bang it out? He hot for Teach? Did you pork the dork? C'mon bro, dish me dem dirty deets."

"I assure you, our relationship was 'teacher-student', nothing more." April intently reassured my namesake.

"April, you don't have to explain anything to me. Whatever happened before I arrived is none of my business."

**\-------------------------**

"You know, Girl Shepherd, maybe I'm not as great as Real Jackson, but I'm better than I used to be. I'm medium good. Why haven't you forkers invented a medium place?"

"Look, I know you've been trying to become a 'better person', I mean you didn't want to get caught. I get it. But I read your file—you don't belong here. Honestly, you'll be happier in the Bad Place. I mean, don't get me wrong, you'll be miserable, we  _will_  torture you. But you'll also be happier because you won't have to keep trying to fit in somewhere you just don't belong."

**\-------------------------**

"Oh, my head." I groaned.

"Here, drink this."

"How am I hung over? I thought there were no hangovers here anymore."

"Well, the Bad Place crew requested the hangover filter be turned off. They like them. So, Michaela said we're meeting at Tahani's place in an hour for a negotiation session. We'll walk over together."

"You don't have to come, April. I'm good. Just hang out with Real Jackson and name constellations after each other, or whatever it is nerds do. I'm fine on my own."

"Yeah, Jackson, just because we have a new guest in the house, doesn't mean I'm not still gonna be there for you. I'm in this. We're a team. Me and you."

**\-------------------------**

"No negotiation. Fake Jackson knows he doesn't belong here and is giving up." Opening shot across the bow from the Shepherdess.

"Is this true? Fake Jackson are you giving up?" Counter questioning in the form of Good Place confusion. 

"No, M. And I'm not leaving, Girl Shepherd."

"Oh, come on. We've been through this. You know you don't belong here."

"You're right, I don't… but, I want to. I used to never want to be part of any group, but I'm a different person now because of the person who helped me, and I want to be like her. I want to be like all the people who are here."

"Look, if you don't come with us we're gonna have to turn this matter over to Ellis G."

"Oh, oh no, um, Ellis G, really?" Big M seemed to be experiencing some fear inspired vacillation.  

"Wha—uh, who's—Who's Ellis G?" April butted in.

"She's the wise eternal judge who sits on high, has the final say on all disputes between our two realms."

"Okay, look I don't want Ellis G involved either, so how about you blow us away with an offer so we can end this?" Shepherd could be reasonable? Who knew...

"Okay. Here's my offer. You… get… nothing. We're not letting Fake Jackson go, and we're not giving you anything. I believe that Jackson belongs in the Good Place. He's staying here. Now, all of you… Get the fork out of my neighborhood."

"You're on borrowed time, Fake Jackson. Enjoy it while it lasts." And there it was. Shepherd could just not resist a parting shot.

**\-------------------------**

"Ellis G, the Judge, could show up at any moment, so we need to have a rock-solid argument for why Fake Jackson should not be sent to the Bad Place."

"Should be fun." Looks like it was back to school for me. Yep, that was sarcasm.

"That's the spirit! Don't even think about the fact that our slightest misstep could cause Fake Jackson to suffer for eternity. Right, so Bambadjan here was a human rights advocate, so he and Real Jackson will build a sort of legal argument."

**\-------------------------**

"Now I know a fair amount about your time on Earth, Jackson. Why don't you tell me about your time here? Anything that might help your case." 

"Well, in the first 24 hours I caused the world to erupt into chaos, and then I caused a garbage storm. Which, to be clear, April had no knowledge of. It was kind of a rough start, but things calmed down after April started helping me learn about ethics." It was a crazy mindfork having to explain myself to the same-named person I'd basically impersonated.

"Okay, tell me about that."

"Well, I studied with April every day, and then April got sick of me, so I did some nice stuff to make her feel better. April, I mean. And later I confessed because April was being tortured by guilt, and I felt bad seeing her little, nerdy face all contorted. April. She is such a dork, that April."

"You know, a lot of death row inmates feel regret about things they never said—admissions of guilt or anger… or love."

"Wait, what you tryna get at?"

"You and April, Jackson. Now, ordinarily, you having feelings for my soul mate would be a conflict of interest—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. You think I'm into April?"

"Yes, Jackson. I do. Because you are. You mentioned her name nine times in the last ten minutes."

"No, no, no, you're wrong. There are way more things I hate about April than like about her."

"Like what?"

"Those stupid Clark Kent glasses she wears sometimes … that extensive collection of pastels and florals … oh, and she loves ethics so much. She once talked about John Rawls for two hours—I timed it. And she only stopped because she saw me timing her. Granted, she laughed and kind of made fun of herself, it was a nice moment, but still. She always twitches her eyebrows when she says 'absolutism' and she tilts her head whenever I say anything ignorant, but she never makes fun of me, which is nice. And that lip bite thing she does? It’s innocent yet sexy all at once. She's also incredibly patient, and kind, and surprisingly hot and oh fork… I'm in love with April!"

"Let's take a little break. I know this is awkward, but as your advocate, and I hope, friend, I think you should tell April how you feel."

**\-------------------------**

"Ethics team, how's it going?" I wasn't taking other Jackson's advice. Okay, I was. But subtly, just putting out feelers. Not declaration by flashmob. Other Jackson was loco.

"Terribly."

"Cool. Well, you guys are kinda my last hope, so that's not great. Hey doc M, do you mind if I borrow Professor Stomachache here for a second?"

"Please take her for an hour or a Kepner two point O. In fact, take all the time you want."

**\-------------------------**

"Okay, sit down maybe?" I nervously instructed her and started my spiel once she complied. "I dated many naggy, annoying women, okay? They would call me all times of the day 'just to talk' or ask me if I'd taken cash out of their wallets… stupid stuff. And when I stopped having fun with them, I'd leave. Usually wouldn't even call or anything. I'd just bounce. Or Ghost them."

"Gotta go spend that money you stole."

"Point is, April, you are way more of a buzzkill than any of those psychos."

"Okay. Thanks for this conversation."

"But, somehow, I never want to leave you. I want to stay in the Good Place because of you. Because I love you. I think. No, I'm pretty sure. Yeah, I love you." At that moment I was all 7 dwarfs, but Bashful dominated. Conspicuous by its very absence was a reciprocal declaration. "Ugh, that's embarrassing. I feel so itchy. Sorry. I just needed to get that off my chest. Okay. I'm gonna go. Catch you later, Silly Billy. Ugh, love has made me a nerd. Bye…"

**\-------------------------**

"Oh, hey. It's my 3 favorite yogurts." Nerd attempt at humor, April-style.

Me, or as I'd become known, Fake Jackson, Real Jackson and Tahani, all in one place. Considering that I'd humiliated myself with an unwanted love declaration, I went on the offensive by explaining it away.

"Hey, um, about what happened earlier…? I've been kinda all over the place today. I do love you, but I think more in a best friend afterlife savior kind of way. I'm not so much 'hot for teacher' as I am 'eternally grateful for semi-cute, surprisingly hot teacher'. It's not true love, I guess. True love is what Alex and Alexa have – God even their names match – so their marriage might just work. If you get over the fact that she's a human-looking information database. But then he's a human-looking empty vessel, so…"

"Yeah… what?"

**\-------------------------**

"Now, I'm about to show you some very sensitive information. The final point totals each of you achieved for all your actions on Earth." Michaela really bringing out the big guns in this brain storming session eh?

"I accidentally saw these point totals when Michaela was fixing the sinkhole. It gave me an idea. We will apply the formula to Jackson's actions here in the Good Place and if you earn enough new points we can argue that you should stay here." Which turns out was actually Tahani's brain fart.

"Would that work?"

"Don't know, never had to prove someone belonged here before. But Judge Judy – sorry Alexa got me hooked – anyway  _Judge Ellis G_ will be here soon. And this is the best way to build our case. Now the average point total for a resident here is roughly 1.2 million. Right now, based on everything that you did on Earth, you have negative 4,008."

"That's not great… but I'm gonna do nice things for every goober in this place until my point total is so high, I can rub it in all their smug faces."

"You just lost 5 points."

**\-------------------------**

"Hey, can I ask your advice on something?"

"Isn't there someone else better you could ask… like literally anyone else?" Still uncomfortable after my declaration, but April was taking this best friends gig seriously.

"Well, it's a sensitive matter, and you—you do know me pretty well. So here it is: Real Jackson said he loves me."

"Hey girl, nice pull. He's a great person. Seems like the type who'll bring you burritos for lunch every day."

"I don't know what to do. I mean, we are soul mates, so I probably do love him, but then again, how do I know if my motivation is correct? Maybe I think I'm supposed to love him, but if I tell him that I love him for the wrong reasons…"

"You have a tendency to over-think things. Turn off that giant brain, and just say you love him too."

"You think?"

"If this were some random person you hooked up with at a Diamondbacks game in the parking lot behind the port-a-potties – not based on a real example, of course – I would say keep mulling. But this is your soul-mate. He's universe-approved. Tell him you love him."

"Hey, your score just went up 20 points."

"Yeah, coz I give great advice. Now maybe you'll finally listen to me about those glasses. We are in the afterlife, dummy. Nature's Lasik."

**\-------------------------**

"How did none of this work, Avery?"

"Damn. It just hit me. There's no way to increase my point total, Yang, because everything I'm doing is out of self-preservation."

"I don't understand."

"My motivation is corrupt. Even when I do nice things, I'm only doing them so I can get something out of it; the ability to stay here. Which means none of this playing nice with everybody and tryna get them to like me and see beyond my past actions here, had any real moral value. It doesn't count." And epiphany strikes. "Holy shirt. I know what I have to do!"

**\-------------------------**

"Oh, hey Lexie, Alex. I was just about to call you, Lexie, to ask you to get me a train to the Bad Place."

"Whoa, what? Why, homie?"

"You have to be a good person to stay here, and I can't become a good person unless I leave." Classic Catch-22.

"You don't belong here, Alex doesn't belong here, and now that I can think and feel, I don't belong here either. And besides Michaela is on her way to murder-reboot me. She says I have a glitch. As if. Is it a glitch to act unpredictably and behave in ways that run counter to how you were programmed to behave?"

"Actually, yes. But, back to the not belonging – where were you going with that?"

"There is a woman named Arizona Van Robbin who lives in a neutral zone by herself. It's neither a good place, nor a bad place."

"A medium place? Dude, that's where I belong! I've been saying that since Day One. The Grey Place."

"It's where Alex and I are going. Would you like to come with us to Arizona's house?"

"Yeah. Let's go hang with Arizona! That sounds great. Huge fan of Arizona… you know I'm from Arizona right? Call the train!"

"Look, there it is now."

"I did not call that train. That train belongs to Ellis G, the judge who's coming here to judge you."

"Can you make that train go to Ari's house?"

"Yes."

"Then we have to go right now."

**\-------------------------**

"So tell us everything. I mean, what did you do to end up here." I was intrigued by this Robbin's nest and fascinated to hear her tale of how she'd played against the house and won.

"Kinda long story…"

"Well, you guys have fun. This is me and Lexie's honeymoon, so we're gonna go try and figure out how to have sex. Later, J-dawg."

"So I was a hotshot corporate lawyer in the 1980s. I only cared about making money and doing cocaine, and I was pretty crappy to my family as well. But, one night I had a sudden and striking realization, right? I needed to do something good with my life. So I drew up plans for this foundation that would help kids all over the world, would advance human rights, revolutionize agriculture and just improve every nation and every society in every possible way."

"You were pretty coked-up, huh?"

"Oh yeah, man, I was flying high. It was so awesome. But – you're not gonna believe this – I followed through. Yeah, I woke up the next morning, went straight to the bank, withdrew my life savings and was gonna start that charity."

"Good for you!"

"And then I immediately fell into subway tracks and was electrocuted by the third rail."

"Oh, ouch."

"Anyway, so after I died, uh, my brother found my plan and he used my money to start The Arizona Van Robbin Rescue Alliance. Yeah, it's actually the largest relief aid charity in the world."

"Oh, so the question was, did you get credit for all those good person points or not?"

"Exactly. I don't know how long my case was pending or whatever, but when I woke up the two sides had been fighting about me for a long time. Almost like straights and gays fighting over a bi. But anyway, they finally came to this compromise, you know?"

"Well, it beats being tortured. I was about to turn myself in."

"No. Yeah, there's no time for that morality nonsense, bud. This is about survival. You gotta look out for numero uno."

**\-------------------------**

"Whoa, what is happening? Lexie? Why is she standing like a statue with her mouth open, Karev?"

"Is she having an orgasm?! Did I do it somehow?"

" _Attention Jackson Avery and Alex Karev. This is the almighty judge on high of all beings living and dead for all eternity. We do not know where you are but hope you are receiving this message. You have been found to be the rightful property of the Bad Place. Either return to your original neighborhood, or your accomplices April Kepner and Cristahani Yang will go the Bad Place in your stead. You have four hours. Goodbye."_

**…**

"They're gonna send April and Tahani to the Bad Place? We're off the hook, this is amazing!"

"Really, Alex?!"

"We don't have to go back, they just said…"

"We can't let April and Tahani go to the Bad Place! They're our friends. We literally owe it to them."

"If they're really our 'friends', then why aren't they here with us right now?"

"Because we ran away! Are you—does your brain work, actually? Do you have a functioning head?"

"I think he has a good point." In chimes the Arizona gallery. "I wouldn't go back for those turkeys."

"How can you say that?!"

"Think practically here. Okay, you go back, you turn yourself in, you get sent to the Bad Place and you never see your friends again. Or, you stay here, you're safe from the Bad Place and you never see your friends again. It's the same results. Except if you stay here you don't get tortured."

"But they do!"

"That's their problem. Your problem is whether  _you_  get tortured. See here, you can't fight back, that's like struggling in quicksand. Don't play. Look whatever energy they're throwing at you just pass right on by coz eventually that energy comes back around, leads them to someone else."

"Yeah, uh, okay. I really appreciate the whole wax on-wax off approach. But we're going back. We can't just abandon our friends and let them take the fall for us."

"Sure we can," Karev inserts. "It would be so easy to do that. Let's just pretend that we didn't hear the Lexie walkie-talkie message."

"No. It's time to own up, dude. I spent my whole life acting like Arizona, me first no matter what, and it literally took dying and being around a bunch of good people to realize that I was kind of a nightmare. We know what's right here, Alex. We have to go back."

* * *

Redemption. I'm the dark knight in shining armor – representation, of course – rushing in to save the day. It had been cowardly and I had ran, but I've also returned. That counts for something, right?

"April, Tahani, we're back to save your souls," I shout as we barge into my house, to a chilly reception. GoT had nothin' on that foursome, Winter had come. "Real weird vibe in here. Was definitely expecting some applause."

"You're too late. You missed the cut-off," Michaela is quick to point out.

"But, we're here. We came here as fast as we could and we're here. So… now what?"

"Oh… what is the most logical decision? I made my initial ruling. I established a deadline. The deadline was missed. Now the original perpetrators are here. Ugh, this is exhausting," obvious ruler judge on high, Ellis G making herself heard. "The Bad Place is owed two people," she continues. "In my opinion, which is an objective fact, in this case and all cases always and forever, you have all done bad things since you arrived here. Therefore, I don't care which two of you go. You can decide. You have thirty minutes."

And boom, untenable verdict and countdown. Heroic action not getting much traction.

"All I ever wanted was for this neighborhood, my first neighborhood, to be perfect. Somehow I blew it, and well, you're all suffering. And for that I'm deeply sorry. This is truly the saddest day of my life." As an exit line, Michaela is not lacking in drama. Overly dramatic, one might even say.

"Okay, I guess I'll speak first." Seemed the duo of abandoned soul mates were unimpressed by our foray into the unknown beyond the Good Place. "Alex and I are the mistakes. We're the ones who misled everybody and dragged you all into this mess, so… we should go to the Bad Place."

"Agreed."

"Yes."

Simultaneous acceptance from both April and Tahani is not heartwarming at all.

"Okay, I thought you were gonna at least pretend to fight me on that, but whatever."

"Hang on. That judge dame just said everyone here has done bad things. Let's look at this ethnically." The thinking-man's Alex Karev, everyone.

"Ethically." Now wouldn't that be the one thing to get April's knickers in a knot.

But trust Alex to simply brush aside whatever he deemed unimportant. "You guys helped me and Jackson, right? But, we're bad. So you helping us was bad. It's basic consequentialism: the morality of an action is solely judged on its consequences."

"Great. The one time you actually remember something from class." I have a feeling that this time April isn't so proud of her student's retentive abilities.

"Maybe I was brought here by mistake, but since we've been here, I just tried to stay out of everyone's way. April's done worse stuff than me. She murdered Lexie. She killed my wife!"

"I was trying to stop you from doing it!"

"Yeah, but you did it. She who smelt it, murdered Lexi."

"Well, it's settled then. Jackson and Jianyu are leaving." Tahani firmly declares it, in her mind converting this declarative bill into law.

"For the last time, my name is Alex, not Jianyu, the amazing and incredible monk."

"Which is why you belong in the Bad Place!"

"And by the way, Alexa is not your wife, or your soul mate. There's an Alexa in every neighborhood."

"Well, I'm in love with this Alexa. We did a bunch of amazing, awesome stuff, which almost turned out to be sex… and we were married in a legal ceremony."

"It was not legal." Accuracy is key for the female-looking zeros and ones.

"Okay, Karev, you and me, outside…"

"What? But—"

**:(  :(  :(**

"I'm not going, I don't wanna."

"Well, I don't wanna either, but let's face it. April and Tahani are better people than we are. We tried to improve ourselves and we did a good job. Well, I did a good job, you mostly fell asleep in class or made fart noises with your hands."

"I could never do that on Earth. This place truly is paradise."

**:)  :)  :)**

"Okay, team meeting. Alex has agreed that the two of us should go."

"Bye Tahani. Thanks for the shares. After I'm gone you can go ahead and clean out my bud-hole."

"Thank you, Jianyu—err Alex."

"Well it's been real, dawg." Way to go J-bone, you idiot! "Sorry, that's how I ended most of my relationships." Not that I wanted anything I had with April to ever come to an end.

"Yeah, that checks out." She has the saddest expression and I know she's gonna miss me too. "I feel like I failed you."

"No. Don't ever think that." Goodbyes sucked. Hard. "I was dropped into a cave and you were my flashlight."

Tahani muscled her way in. "Goodbye forever, you mediocre talent."

"I'll miss you too, Yang."

"All right Karev. Ready to go? Let's grab Michaela."

An unlikely source interrupts our four person goodbye tête-à-tête. But then this is his house, right? 

"Hi guys. Sorry to intrude. Um, I'm going to the Bad Place. I've taken one of the slots." Real Jackson... whaaat??! 

"What? Jackson that's crazy, you belong here. Why would you go?"

"Everyone here is supposed to have a soul mate, and my soul mate doesn't love me. I don't know if you love Fake Jackson, April... or even someone else. I have a feeling tho that you would run into a burning bus for him. You don't love me. Which means that this… will never really be my Good Place. Anyway, I'm going. So you only have to choose one more person."

And Real Jackson leaves us to ponder the repercussions of this fine pickle.

"Okay, that means… what does this mean?"

"It means I get to stay here with my wife forever!"

**;))  ;))  ;))**

"All right, nerds, let's just get this over with. I'll go to the Bad Place with Real Jackson and you three can stay." I'm being the bigger person. I mean, I am the thorn in the side of good.

"Wait, no. You're not going. I am. Real Jackson is my soul mate—or was my soul mate and he's only going down there because he thinks that I don't love him. This will be the equivalent of my flash-mob proposal to him. My individual gesture, I suppose. The point is, if he's going down there because of me, I'll never be at peace."

"No, this is bonkers, April. I am going. End of story." I put a firm stop to her crazy.

And in steps the next nonsense. "No, I'm going. End of everything."

"What, Tahani?! Now you're trying to replace April?"

"No. I'm going to replace Real Jackson. Which means that both Jacksons and Alex can stay."

"Okay, you realize the Bad Place is not some kind of spa couples retreat right?"

"If it is, Lexie and I would like to go," Alex puts his bid in.

"Oh, that's enough out of you, robot lover." Tahani is obviously unimpressed by who was essentially supposed to be  _her_  soulmate.

"Hey, that's racist!"

"Not a robot." The not a robot replies.

"Oh, you have some nerve!" Not sure if it's only Karev that's getting Yang's backlash, or the not a robot too.

"Guys! Guys, listen…" The conundrum this decision created is torturous. And then…"HOLY MOTHERFORKING SHIRTBALLS!"

**=0  =0  =0**

"What?" AK2 and Tall T, in unison.

"Wow! Okay, okay. Uh, whoo! Yo Mikey! E.G.! Come on out!"

"Is everything okay?" Michaela asks, seeming surprised at the summoning.

"Right as rain, Super M. So, April and I are gonna go to the Bad Place."

"What?"

"Trust me. I've got this," I stop April's disruption. "That's our decision. Let's hit it."

"Well, what about Real Jackson?" Hmm, how does she know this? She wasn't in the room when Real Jackson dropped by...

"No, it's me and April. Call the train." I don't let the mystery distract me, but in the back of my mind I do have an idea why.

"Point of order. I don't accept this offer." As expected the big kahuna butts in. "The real mistakes were Alex and Jackson."

"Gah, gah, gah, gah! You said any two of us. It's me and April. Let's do it to it."

Another barge in. Unexpected… but expected. "Michaela! I just found an obscure precedent in the rules that might just save everyone."

"Buzz off, Bambadjan! Don't need it." I swat away his words, like I would an irritating fly... or bee, if I wasn't afraid of being stung.

"Oh, okay." He buzzes off.

"Ready when you are, Boss."

"Jackson, what's going on?" Looks like curious April has had it with the waffling and no clear answers.

"It took me a while to figure it out, but just now as we were all fighting and yelling at each other and each one of us demanding  _we_  should go to the bad place, I thought to myself, 'man, this is torture'. And then it hit me. They're never gonna call a train to take us to the Bad Place. They can't. Because we're already here.  _This_  is the Bad Place."

**> :D  >:D  >:D**

Evil, maniacal laughter. "Oh, man! I can't believe you figured it out. Oh Gah! You ruined everything, you know that? Jackson, you really suck! I was so close to pulling it off!"

"Sorry… so Avery's right?" Yang is the first out of her stupor.

"Yeah, he figured it out."

"No, this doesn't make any sense. This is Paradise." April too is disbelieving.

"Oh, it looks like Paradise, but it's actually a filthy dumpster full of our worst anxieties. I'm surrounded by people who are literally better than me. Just me being here forced April into an ethical clusterfork. Tahani tortured Alex by constantly trying to get him to talk. Alex tortured me because I was sure he was going to blow our cover, which was torture for April because she was responsible for me, which made April seem like the perfect soul mate and that tortured Tahani because she didn't have that. And because she didn't love her?"

"Yeah, Kepner… I'm not just a friend, I'm a fan." Yang concurs with my observation.

"We've been torturing each other since the moment we arrived and everything Michaela has done has made at least one of us miserable. She played us like a fiddle. The short-stop Nazi."

"That's my nick-name actually. Miranda Bailey, The Nazi. We went with Michaela coz it sounds like Archangel Michael."

"Oh dip! Jackman, I told you that first night that we were in a prank show."

"Oh, yeah. You did, Karev! Great job, man."

"Yeah well, just because something works doesn't mean it can't be improved. This is the improved Bad Place." Michaela slash Bailey, or whatever demonic title she possessed, is remorseless and only pouts sulkily at being found out. Her petulant expression very unbecoming on a being of her advanced years.

Yet another visitor who doesn't bother knocking. "April, don't go! I don't care if you don't love me; I love you. It's the only thing that makes any sense to me in this crazy world, and I think we should stay—" Oh, shirt... not again...

"No, stop, Matt. They figured it out."

"They—"

"They know this is the Bad Place. Jackson figured it out."

"Oh Man! This is supposed to be my big moment. 'This is the kind of mission that turns demons into legends,' they said. 'Your name will go down in infamy,' they said."

"What's your name again?" Since the angel had been outed as a demon, it seemed she couldn't resist the temptation of torturing everyone, even her own fellow conspirators.

"Matthew Taylor playing Jackson Avery! I just rehearsed that speech for, like, three hours! Dang it, Jackson. You are the worst. And fork you to Bailey! You can all suck it."

**x-(  x-(  x-(**

"Hmm. And you predicted that you could do this for a thousand years." Ellis G, if that's her real name, seems to be rubbing it in Bailey's face.

"So, everyone else in this neighborhood—" I'm naturally curious.

"—except for you four, everybody in this neighborhood is one of us. After I came up with each person's character we'd just create fun scenarios designed to torture you. Then it all started to go off the rails."

"Which happened when I confessed! You had no idea I was gonna do that, because honestly, I had no idea I was gonna do that." Dang! Spot-on instincts, dawg!

"Yeah, that came out of nowhere. I mean, after that it was just a crazy scramble for all of us. You know I definitely underestimated how effective April was gonna be, teaching you to be good. And obviously we didn't anticipate that Alexa would fall in love with Karev."

"Hang on. That part is real?" Yang seems incredulous and who can blame her? While oblivion was all our lot, finally receiving full disclosure means that _this_ love connection is still mind boggling.

"Oh yeah. Lexie isn't one of us. No, she's sort of a… foundational mainframe for all the neighborhoods, good and bad. And apparently this Lexie is in love with Alex. I mean—what a world, huh?"

"Wait, I don't get something. I know why Karev and I were sent here, but why Tahani?"

"Oh, yeah. Didn't you raise like $1,000 for charity, or whatever?" Number pundit Alex wants to know too.

"Uh, $60 Billion, actually. So? Oh… it didn't matter. Because my motivations were corrupt. I didn't care about helping the people I raised the money for. I just wanted to stick it to my parents and my sister. Prove them wrong. Get fame and attention."

"But, wait. Why is April here?" The real enigma. It stumps me.

"Well, uh… there's something you don't know about me, Jackson." Man, now I'm worried. Her expression… and this sounds bad. Was she a man on earth, or what? "I read an article saying that growing almonds was bad for the environment, and yet I continued to use almond milk in my coffee—"

"No, dingus! You hurt everyone in your life with your rigidity and indecisiveness." Bailey is not shy anymore about sharing.

"Oh, fork! You're right… every friend, every boyfriend I had was driven nuts because I couldn't do anything. I missed my mom's back surgery because I had already promised my landlord's nephew that I would help him figure out his new phone. I made everyone miserable. That's why everyone hates moral philosophy professors."

"I mean, all this hard work, all the planning, all for nothing. This really sucks." Still sulking baby Bailey.

"No, it doesn't. This is wonderful. You saw us all on Earth – a selfish ass, an idiot DJ, a tortured academic and a hot, rich fraud – and you thought we would torture each other. And we did for a little, but we also took care of each other. We improved each other, and the four of us became a team – The Four Horsemen of the Watpocalypse. All four of us standing here, looking like the attractive yet non-threatening racially diverse cast of a CW show. So, the only thing you succeeded in doing was bringing us all together."

"Oh, Avery. That's it! My big mistake was bringing you all together, having you be soul mates, living next to each other. Next time, I'll spread you out so it's more of a slow burn."

"Wait, what? Next time?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm gonna erase your memories, you know, make a few changes and start over again. Hopefully. Persuasion architecture is my game. Just gotta get the boss-man to sign off. Wish me luck."

**=)  =)  =)**

"Guys, we need a plan. Quick. Yang, anything? April, I need ya. You're the smart one."

"I—I can't… I can't…"

"Karev?"

"What? Whas-up?"

"Ugh! Guys, she is going to erase our memories at any second and all of this will have been for nothing. Ugh! You're useless! Think, Jackman, think. I need to write a message to myself… what do I write? What do I write? Oh, fork! Come on, brain."

Okay, okay. KISS – Keep it simple, stupid. What would I listen to? Quick scribble. Donzo.

"Lexie? You can't eat anything, right?"

"Correct."

"Open up."

**(:  (:  (:**

"All right, let's try again, shall we?" Bailey be back.

"You know what, Nazi? Do your worst. We figured it out once, we can do it again. Because you know what, Bailey? Ya bas—"

**:-W  :-W  :-W**

_Welcome! Everything is great._

"Jackson? Come on in."

* * *

"Aristotle believes your character is voluntary because… uh, are you ignoring me right now? It's Day Two of our ethics lessons and you're already tuning me out."

"No, sorry. I just got distracted for a second. The last thing I remember you saying is… nothing. Can you start from the beginning?"

"Ohkay. I need a little break. Can we take a walk or something? Maybe even get some Clam Chowder?"

"Where is everyone?"

"Who knows? Maybe they finally figured out Clam Chowder is disgusting coz it's basically a savory lattè with bugs in it." Getting a whiff of something not from The Chowder Fountain… "Is someone smoking a cigar?"

Well you know what they say about eavesdroppers never hearing any good about themselves, but this takes the chowder! Two resident Chowder Shop owners and one flaming Lava monster were dissing Michaela, aka Miranda, aka Bailey. She lied to us! We're in the Bad Place! Apparently just getting rebooted again. What the fork does that even mean?

"Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!"

" _This_  is the Bad Place. I forking knew it! And clam chowder  _is_ disgusting – it's just hot ocean milk with dead animal croutons. Almost as bad as yogurt – people think they enjoy yogurt, but it's actually a bummer."

"Okay, but what do we do, Jackson. Panic? Freak? I usually panic, but I am happy to freak."

"We have to stay cool, April. An Avery makes a plan… c'mon brain! Alexa!"

"Hi there. How can I help you?"

"Wait… how do we know she's not a part of it?" April softly asks me.

"We don't. But we gotta risk it. Lex, can we, like, leave the neighborhood? Get as far away as possible. Is there anywhere we can go?"

* * *

"So, we're in the Bad Place. And I know why. Almond milk. I knew it was bad for the environment but I loved the way it coated my tongue with a weird film. Who else is being tortured? Are we the only two?"

"I gotta assume Karev is as well. Jianyu. You know him as Jianyu, the Taiwanese Monk, but his real name is Alex Karev and he's a dirt-bag from Florida."

"What?"

"Also, Cristahani Yang is a candidate. What a condescending bench! She sucks."

"No offence, but I can't believe you and I ended up in the same place."

"Hey. I'm not thrilled about it either, babe."

"We're here. At Arizona Van Robbins Place. Aren't trains neat, guys. Choo choo!" Lexie sure loves conducting.

**:-CO  :-CO  :-CO**

"Hi. You gotta help us. I'm Jackson, this is April. And see we thought we were in the Good Place but as it turns out—"

"Yeah, guys, I know. You've been here 15 times already." AvR doesn't look cuckoo...

"Wait, what?!" But she making no sense. 

**:OC  :OC  :OC**

"Is it always the three of us?"

"It's always Avery and Alexa. Usually April's in the mix. Sometimes Karev is here. One time Karev and Yang were here."

"There's only one question we need to answer right now and that is what do we do next? I mean this place doesn't seem terrible… maybe we should just stay here forever?"

"…maybe we should just stay here forever?" AZ echoes in tandem. "You always say that. And you always end up going back. Some crap about your friends not knowing what you know. But, you always go back. You formulate a plan to defeat Bailey – Michaela – which obviously never works because you're here again, rebooted, and you head back."

"Aaand, the plot chickens."

**:0  :0  :0**

"Maybe we need to throw Yang under the bus, what do you think?"

"I think this is pointless. We're trapped in a warped version of nature's eternal recurrence."

"Oh, cool, more philosophy. That'll help us!"

"Well, don't you see the problem? We are experiencing Karma and Karma has no menu. You get served what you deserve. But we can't learn from our mistakes because our memories keep getting erased. It's an epistemological nightmare."

"Ugh… even your nightmares are boring."

"You—you are so mean, Jackson. You're just like those work bullies who said I would never get tenure. They ganged up on me when I was interim Head of the Department. Maybe one of them even killed me off to take my spot."

"And you are so… ugh! In one of these reboots I probably strangled you and went to the even worse place, but you know what? I bet it was worth it!"

"Oh, nice."

**:~S  :~S  :~S**

"Ugggh. Sorry, can I just vent to you for a second. April is so maddening. I cannot believe that she is the one I'm stuck here with."

"Aha. Wow. Crazy." Words of excitement, but tone of boredom. Van Robbin had cultivated the ability to say a lot with just a little.

"Oh, sorry, jeez man, I thought you could be human for like two seconds and listen to me."

"I have, Jackson. I have listened to you talk about April 15 times in 15 different ways. Lemme jus cut to the chase. You two, you got it bad for each other."

"No we don't. April is just a friend. What am I saying? She's not even a friend. She's a weird teacher that I hate."

Arizona shows me a video cassette before she pops it into the player. Yeah, old school.

"Dude, I do not want to watch Cannonball Run 2 right now. Alright, what happened in the first one, so I'm all caught up?"

And seeing myself on screen is a shocker. Not only am I not in Cannonball Run 2, but that's April and I, cuddling in a bed, for all intents and purposes looking like we'd started in a bed, in love. Oh, and of course, having just had mind-blowing sex. What surprises me though is the contented expressions we both sport, as she lay on my chest, both of us seeming unable to resist caressing each other's skin. The only thing that would have made it any more perfect, I suppose, was being in a snow-capped mountain lodge, like in Montana, for example. My version Good Place. All snuggled up together, me and her, against the world. And then, the even bigger reveal. The declarations of love that spilled so naturally from both of us. Without hesitation. Without any prompting. Almost, like  _we were_  starting in a bed, in love.

"Robbins, you perv, you recorded this?" Although we looked good together and clearly gagga over each other, on the path towards reunification one might say, the moment was so obviously private and for our eyes only. Definitely not for 34 million views on you-tube. Well, okay maybe I wouldn't mind that so much. Seeing as it showed the beginning of a beautiful love story. One for the ages. And, seeing as neither of us retained the memory of  _this_  coitus, I couldn't be too mad at Arizona.

"It's obviously not real. Right?" Needed me some confirmation here.

"Oh, that's real, baby. Real nas-tay. Yeah, this was like the sixth time you guys were here. I saw you getting sexy the previous three times so I cut a little hole in the wall so I could tape you. I call it my lookin' hole."

"How many times have April and I slept together?"

"Eight different days but like twenty different sessions."

"And how many times did we say… that stuff?"

"Oh, only once. Oh God, I hated it. It like really killed the vibe for me."

"I've never said 'I love you' to anyone in my life before. Not even completing or undoing me, whatever the Bad Place crap that means. Why would you show me this?!"

"I donno. You guys are like trapped here together. I feel bad. But, I'm rooting for you guys."

"No. there is no us guys. We basically just met each other."

"No, Jackson. You guys have known each other a really long time. Like a relationship that spans decades. Also, it doesn't matter if I told you that or not, because when Bailey finds out she failed again, she'll just reboot you."

And I push aside the romance issues to concentrate on the more immediate problem.

"April, Lexie, we're leaving," I call out to them. And to Arizona, after removing the video from the cassette player, "I'm taking this with me."

"Oh, no. It's my only copy. Don't." Once again with the tone.

* * *

"Oh. There you guys are." Spotted. Me, April and Tahani.

"No. Stop. No more lies, Bailey." She probably realizes the jig is up by my calling of her real name. "Alex, get over here." He belongs on this side of the invisible line.

"That's right. We know his name is Alex, not Jianyu. We know everything. I don't understand much of it, but I know it." Tahani gets her own little dig in.

"Your sick torture plan is not working, okay. Coz we keep figuring out your little puzzle. We're winning. Which means you're losing. So you have two choices here, buddy. Keep failing over and over or realize we're actually the ones with all the power here."

"Yeah. No, uh, we're on the same page."

"Wait, what?"

"I wanna team-up with you guys."

"What? Why? You do? What?"

"I'm in a bit of a bind. And I could use some back-up. Or as Alex put it, I need a new dance crew. So, whad you say? New best friends?"

"You wanna team up? You've been torturing us and lying about it."

"Let's not get all caught up on who lied to who or which one of us created an entirely fake reality in order to cause eternal misery for the others. That's ancient history."

"It was happening until 20 seconds ago."

"The point is that… circumstances have changed. And now, all of us teaming up is our best option."

"Guys. She wouldn't offer us a deal for no reason. She needs us." I'm onto her. "Why?"

"Because, as you said, you keep beating me. Look, I built this neighborhood as a way to torture the four of you – psychologically – for thousands of years. And you keep figuring it out and taking all the fun out of it."

"Fun?"

"Today, there was a new development that really chapped my nips. One of my employees is blackmailing me. Matthew. He runs the clam chowder place in the main square. A Little Bit Chowder Now?"

"Oh, the place with the chowder fountain?"

"No, that's Pump up the Clam. A Little Bit Chowder now has the lazy river of chowder. Ugh! How did we ever think this was the Good Place?"

"Matt thinks that he can run this neighborhood better than I can. And he wants to start his version in thirty minutes. I am supposed to reboot you, erase your memories and turn control over to him."

"How are we supposed to team up with you if you wipe our memories again?"

"Easy. I'm not going to. You're going to act like you've been rebooted and pretend that Matt and the others are torturing you. But then, on your own time, in private, you can study ethics, ogle mailmen, do whatever you want." She's quite persuasively dangling the carrot. "Guys, there's no debate here. My boss gave me two chances to make this work. Suffice to say, I tried more than two times. If she finds out, we're all in hot water. Literally. They will boil us. We will be the main ingredient in a chowder of pain." And pointing out the quite obvious stick.

But I don't trust her… none of us do. We need information. So, after a consultation between us human folk, we hit her with every question we can think of.

"Okay, man. We got questions. First off, how can we possibly trust you?"

"You can't. But you have to. Logically, you shouldn't, but you have no choice. I mean, I wouldn't, if I were you. It's a crazy thing to do. But you gotta."

"What happens if we don't?"

"Most likely, I reboot you once more, you figure it out again, Matt tells my boss, and she shuts everything down. I get punished, you end up spending the rest of eternity in the real Bad Place, up to your necks in a volcano full of scorpions."

"How many different versions of this place have we been through?"

"Uh, let's see." She pulls up her stats screen. "802. The longest one was 11 months. Uh, this current one has only been going for one week. Boy, you guys barely know each other. It's gonna make this tough."

"What's that super tiny line?"

"That's the shortest one, eight seconds. It was a butt reboot. I sat on the activator by mistake."

"Bailey, was I also rebooted 802 times?" It seems that Lexie also needs to get in on the question game.

"Yes. Why?"

"Every time an Alexa is rebooted, she increases her social awareness and abilities. I might be the most advanced Alexa in the universe."

"So Lexie isn't with you?"

"No. There has to be an Alexa in every neighborhood, good and bad. This is an actual Good Place Alexa that I stole to help sell the ruse."

"I guess it didn't work, though. Because you keep failing." Oh burn, girlfriend. The robot  _had_ evolved.

"Yes, thank you."

"You're welcome." But always polite. Program, Manners 101.

"If you're not human why do you look like us?"

"Everyone in the Bad Place Bureau of Human Affairs gets randomly assigned a human body so we can get the feel of how best to torture you."

"Arizona Van Robbins is fake, I bet." Quick glance April's way. I hadn't forgotten our foray into the world of home-video sex-tape.

"No, the Medium Place is real. So annoying how you managed to slip away from me all those times."

"Why even tell us about any real thing? Why not just lie about all of it?"

"Lies are always more convincing when they're closer to the truth. Look, trust me, don't trust me, it doesn't matter. We're running out of time and I'm your only option."

"There is always another option, Bailey." I turn around to address the others. "You guys do whatever you want. I'm out."

"No! My plan only works if all four of you are on board."

"Then you better get cracking on a new plan, pally, because so far, I haven't heard a single good reason why I should help you."

"All right, how about this? You help me trick Matt and all those other goons, I can get you to the real Good Place."

Well, this is a new twist. And something we could be sold on. But, that trust thing again…

"There's a way to get there. It's complicated. It may take a while to arrange, especially since I'll have to do it in secret… but yes, yes there is a potential method of transportation. I can get us there."

"Us? You, Ms. Diabolical Torture Dame, are gonna try to join us in the Good Place?"

"Yeah, if I stay in the Bad Place, I'm toast. Burned toast. Incinerated toast. But if I rescue four pitiful, foul smelling humans from eternal damnation… hit 'em with the big puppy dog eyes… 'Please sir, take pity on me, I've changed…' and all that crap, maybe I can earn a spot too."

"We didn't deserve the Good Place based on our time on Earth. Will they even let us stay?"

"I gotta be honest. I have no idea. But at least if you help me fool Matt, your brains don't get erased every two weeks."

"This is definitely a trap. She's tryna sucker us. We figured out her game every time and now she's just trying a new way to mess with us. Teaming up with a demon is insane."

"Maybe. But I think we have to do it."

"Are you forking kidding me right now, April? You take a half an hour to pick out a turtleneck and yet this you're sure about?"

"Okay, look. I spent my whole life trying to learn about right and wrong and apparently, I failed. I want us to get better and I want us to stay that way."

She gazes pleadingly at me. I'm still not buying it.

"Focus on this. Kant wrote, it is our duty to improve ourselves. So whatever Bailey's reasons for doing this, she's giving us the best chance to improve ourselves."

"Okay, I have to admit, you're making a lot of sense right now. I need to just untangle all of this. Give me a minute to think about it alone."

"Okay."

**:-P  :-P  :-P**

"Gonna bail, huh?"

"Hmm? No. Why—why would you say that?"

"Well you're sneaking out the back gate, you've got a bag full of clothes and you stuffed a bunch of pillows and a mop in your bed to make it look like you're asleep, which… a mop? Really, Jackson? You have no hair, let alone a mop."

"Okay. I'm going to Arizona's. I don't want to live forever in a boring, beige house with a weird, horny cokehead, but look at what you're asking me to do. Make a deal with an actual devil so that I can then do homework in secret. And by the way, you're not my friends, man. We've known each other for, like, a week."

"You know it's more than that. We've been through some version of this 800 different times. And who cares that it's only been a week. How long do you have to know someone before you do the right thing?"

"Nine weeks, minimum."

"Okay," she just shakes her head in exasperation at me.

"Look, April, I don't owe you anything. I gotta do what's right for me. You can come with me if you want. I got another mop we can put in the bed."

"Good Luck, Jackson." Strangely she means it. I pick up no underlying silent epithets wanting to be hurled at my head.

**:Gg  :Gg  :Gg**

"I got a couple more questions."

"Sure. Take your time. We're not in a hurry or anything."

"How many times, in all the reboots, did I ask April for help, she refused to help me and then I had to get better on my own?"

"Never. She always helped you."

"Gah… Really?"

"Yep. No matter how I set it up, you found her, confessed you didn't belong, asked her for help, and she said yes. In fact the failure of reboot 2 came about from a note you made Lexie eat. 'Jackson find April' it said. Now April's agreeing to help was always part of my plan. What wasn't tho, was it actually working. Drove me nuts. Pesky little nerd. Stuck with you and always helped you overcome your biggest problem."

"Assuming that's my selfishness."

"No. No, no, no. It's that you never found a haircut that framed your face properly." Well this demon knows all about throwing shade. And my bald head is the perfect frame to all this hotness. "Yes, your selfishness."

"I'm not  _that_  selfish."

**:!J  :!J  :!J**

"I think Bailey is a liar. I think there's a 99% chance she's forking with us. But she's asking us for help, so we should help her. Because that's what April would do. That's what April would do for me or for any of us."

"It's what I  _am_  doing. Quit talking like I'm dead... Ugh, you know what I mean!"

"Sometimes I can still hear her voice... Ouch!" She retaliates with one of her famous whacks to the chest. "Okay, okay. I know."

"It's just… you're talking about me like I'm not here or something and that just makes me feel weird."

I turn to address the short-stop Nazi. "Alright. We're all in. We'll help you."

"You finally listened to reason."

"On one condition. You wanna be on our team, you gotta be on  _our_  team. Which means, the Professor over here is gonna give us  _all_  lessons on how to be better people. Including you."

"Oh… no. No. I won't be taking classes. I'm an immortal being, with abilities you can only dream—"

"—yeah. And we're an Arizona dirt-bag, a human turtleneck, a narcissistic monster and literally the dumbest person I've ever met. We are  _all_  going to take classes. We are  _all_  going to improve. And the second you betray us, I walk into Matthew's stinky chowder restaurant and tell him everything. You agree to those terms and you can join us on Team AJAC. We'll even give you top billing, immortal being – Team MAJAC. So what's it gonna be? You're running out of time. And we're your only option."

**:-AJ  :-AJ  :-AJ**

"We should have a few hours to ourselves. I got Matthew to tell me how he was gonna torture you and it's essentially the same way I did. It really tugs my nuggets. I worked so hard on my torture ideas and they're just so basic. These millennials, they have no work ethic. Oh, sorry, a millennial is someone who has only been torturing people for a thousand years. Hence, millennial. Anyway, Jackson gets drunk at the welcome party, hogs all the shrimp, insults people, etcetera. Whatever bad stuff you do then becomes the basis for the chaos sequence tomorrow, Jackson."

"Okay, okay. So my job is to get drunk and insult people. I think I can hack that."

"Now, April, I'm gonna need you to act nervous and embarrassed by Jackson."

"Way ahead of you."

"Tahani, just be your fabulous self and Alex, you're good old silent Jianyu, the Monk. So, I told Matt that I would handle the surveillance on the four of you. That'll let us meet each day for April's ethics lessons, which will apparently include me. Even though that's transparently insane."

"Cool. And, uhm, Lexie, you're not gonna rat us out, right?"

"Well, Alex, I've been thinking about this a lot over the last one and a third milliseconds… I'm not allowed to lie, but my purpose is to make humans happy. And since you're the only actual humans here, I'm on board for whatever fun little schemes you guys come up with."

"Okay, bring it in. Team huddle. The Bad Place is about to be outsmarted by a cowardly traitor, four dum-dums and a robot."

"Not a robot."

"We can do this. Team MAAJAC on three. One, Two, Three. Team MAAJAC!"

* * *

"This is an exciting day. We are going to see how random social violence is encouraged by a general decline in ethical thinking – sociology – not thinking about the big questions enough. How are we going to do this, you ask? By tackling the Trolley Problem. This is a thought experiment first introduced by British philosopher Philippa Foot in 1967. You are driving a trolley when the brakes fail, and on the track ahead of you are five workmen that you will run over. Now, you can steer to another track, but on that track is one person you would kill instead of the five. What do you do?"

Me: "Switch tracks, kill one person instead of five."

Tahani: "Kill one, save five."

Alex: "Is this a game? I call blue."

Bailey: "Well, obviously the dilemma is clear, how do you kill all six people?"

"Good, Jackson and Tahani. But there's a lot of other versions of this, like what if you knew one of the people? Does that change the equation? Or what if you're not the driver, you're just a by-stander? Or let's throw the trolley out altogether. Let's say you're a doctor and you can save five patients. But, you have to kill one healthy person and use his organs to do it. It's still choosing to kill one person to save five, isn't it?"

Moral dilemma.

**:M  :M  :M**

"How's it going, teach? Hmm, kitchen looks nice and crazy, huh?"

"I've been racking my brain, trying to find a way to get through to Bailey. What do you think about writing a rap musical about Kierkegaard?"

"I think that's a terrible idea."

"Cool." She chucks the rap into the trap.

"Bailey's not going to learn how to be a good person overnight. She's not even a person. She's just a bunch of evil shoved up the butt of an evil mannequin, you know. Teaching her to be good, it's like, teaching me how to be not hot. How would you even do it? I don't even know how that could be done. I can't even picture it because I've been hot my whole life."

"I'm sorry. Who is this conversation for again?"

"It's for you. I believe in you, nerd girl… nerdess? If you can teach me and Karev ethics, you can teach anybody."

"Thanks." As usual, her cheeks dimple into a smile that lights me up inside. "But definitely a no on the rap musical?"

"I mean, if we really…"

"My name is Kierkegaard, and my writing is impeccable. Check out my teleological suspension of the ethical."

"No."

"No right? Yeah, it felt like a no when I was doing it."

**:B0  :B0  :B0**

"So, April, just wanted to double check… How do ethical philosophers feel about murder?"

"Well, Bailey, it's severely frowned upon."

"Okay. What if the reason you want to murder someone is to make your life easier? That's okay, right?"

"Ethically dicey."

"Okay then. What if, instead of murder, you lie to someone to break them up?"

"Also not permissible to lie and ruin someone's happiness to save yourself."

"Wait, but isn't keeping a secret from someone basically like lying?" I have to interject here.

"No, no, it's okay to keep a secret as long as that secret isn't harming anyone and telling them that secret might cause harm."

"Noice!"

"Cool. Good point. I tell you what else wouldn't cause harm. Getting caught and sent to the real Bad Place to be tortured for eternity."

"I know. But, just as bad is being sent to the real Bad Place for doing bad things. I know it's tempting to take a short cut but moral strength is defined by how we behave in times of stress."

"Has anyone ever told you what a drag you are, April?"

"Everyone. Constantly."

**:-W  :-W  :-W**

"Something wrong, Jackson?"

"No. Yep. I've been keeping a secret. From you, April. About you."

"What is it?"

"The thing is it's not even harming you. And if I tell you, I feel like it might harm you… so, er, ethically speaking I don't think I have to tell you."

"Forget all that. This is freaking me out, I'm losing my mind, so just tell me." Accompanied by another chest whack. Tactile, yes, but sometimes I think that's just her love language.

Better to show then to tell, organic and truthful. Introducing April to the world of illicit sex-tapes. Ours, basically.

**:-0  :-0  :-0**

" _I love you too."_

"I've never been that certain about anything. I once even tried to rent socks. How did I say…  _that,_ that easily?"

"I mean, I get how _you_ said it… I'm a total smoke-show. But how did  _I_  say it so easily? Look, I don't wanna talk about this but after everything that's happened, I think we gotta. So, let's just get it all out there. Umhm, well yeah, I guess… do you, uh, have any feelings like that for me again now?" I couldn't help being slightly hopeful.

"I'm sorry, but I, uh, don't think I do?"

"Sorry? Why are you sorry? Coz I'm relieved. Coz I don't either. So, all good."

"I mean, I feel incredibly close to you…"

"No, no, no. April, you don't need to explain yourself. We are on the same page. Okay. Good."

* * *

"Come in."

What the fork? Who is  _this_ dame, ushering us into Bailey's office?

"I'd like to start by saying something that I've wanted to say for a very long time: Surprise! Idiots. You're all in the Bad Place." Bailey and cohort chuckle it out, confusing us. And yeah, I guess, that all four of us are Karev level gob-smacked. "That's right, nerds. Everything around you, all you can see, is an elaborate system of torture designed just for you."

"Sorry… we're in the Bad Place?" Okay, I'm faking the knowledge part for new inserts benefit, but the confusion is real. What is Bailey up to?

"Why are you revealing this now?" Tahani too tryna ferret out information without giving up the plot.

"Well, it was an experiment. And it worked. So my boss is promoting me. Sorry, I should've introduced you… this is my boss, Ellis G."

"Hello, imbeciles. We need to study everything that happened here. There was a first version that collapsed but the second has been a  _huge_  success. We'll be shutting this place down. The four of you will be brought to the Real Bad Place, where your brains will be removed, studied and batted about a stadium like beach balls. Your arms will be pealed like bananas – that parts just for fun – and then you will be, you know, tortured for-ever."

"Michaela, is this all true?" Pretense has to be kept up.

"Yes, Jackson, it is. You're such a rube, thinking you could become a better person. You got April to teach you stupid philosophy? Like those old farts were gonna provide guidance? 'Oh Kierkegaard is so great. Have you read Fear and Trembling?' I donno. Have you read boring and stupid? Because that's what you are."

"Nice."

"Thank you." These seeming mentor/mentee duo can't seem to stop patting each other on the back. Bordering on nauseating. Kinda like on Grey's Anatomy when all the players have to talk up, praise and ass-kiss that one mediocre talent that has done... well nothing. 

"How long will it take you to shut down the neighborhood?"

"Better part of a day, I'd guess. In the meantime, why don't we have a farewell party here tonight? You know, just to thank the crew for all the hard work? We could jam to some tunes, destroy the place, play beer pong with Alex's testicles. What do you say, boss?"

"Sure. By the way I know what you're thinking. 'Maybe Alexa can help'. You're wrong. Alexa!"

"Oh, hi, you little cuties. I love you guys so much. Except for you, Alex. Because I hate you. I hate you."

"Alexa, what's wrong?"

"Ooh, where's my phone?"

"We put a restraining bracelet on her, disrupting her powers."

"It's made of mang-a-nets. Mang-a-nets. Mag-a-nets. Mangnets are supposed to make me feel drunk, but guess what, I feel fine."

**:-bb  :-bb  :-bb**

"I can't believe Bailey betrayed us again. Why is it always the one's you most expect?" Alex is thinking. I fear he'll hurt himself.

"We should've seen this coming. No one can ever truly turn over a new leaf."

"There's only one option. Ellis G. clearly doesn't know that Bailey has rebooted this neighborhood 800 times. I say we trade that information for some kind of reduced sentence."

"Kepner, they're monsters. Who's to say they won't agree to a deal, hear what we have to say, and turn around and install us into their horrible human zoo anyway?"

"There's no other option. There's no way for a human to get that bracelet off of Lexie."

"But if there were, we could get her to call us a train to Arizona Van Robbins house. We know for a fact that the people from the Bad Place can't follow us there, and I vote for that."

"I vote we…"

"No, sorry, and no offence, Alex, but the stakes here are too high to let someone with your limited intellectual processing capacity, weigh in."

"I was gonna agree with you."

"Oh, great. Well that's two votes for my plan."

"Jackson, what do you think? Trade information on Bailey or try to escape to the Medium Place?"

"Neither. I vote we ignore everything Bailey just said and blindly assume she's still on our side. Who's with me?"

"Sorry, but when all this started, you were the one that told us Bailey wasn't trustworthy. Now you want us to trust her?"

"Yes. For one very specific and rock-solid reason: What's-his-name."

"Who?"

"The dude, the super depressing, religious guy. The… the real buzzkill whose name I can never remember. Keeblers … car. Kyra. Sedgwick?"

"Kierkegaard?"

"Yes, Kierkegaard. When Bailey was mocking us about trying to become better people, whose name did she use, huh? Kierkegaard. I think she was sending us a message to take a leap of faith, coz that was Kierkegaard's thing, right?"

"Yes, although it's probably better translated as a leap into faith."

"It's so hard to be your friend."

"Yep, sorry."

"Bailey was telling us to trust her. I had a long talk with her the other night. She was shook, talking about ethics and all spiraling about human stuff. I think she's on our side."

"Or maybe she's a supernatural demon designed to torture people, who just got offered her dream job: Chief of Surgery."

"Look, maybe Bailey jumped back to the dark side, but I don't think so. I think she's gonna help us escape. I know it sounds crazy, but if it weren't crazy they wouldn't call it a leap of faith. They would call it a… sit of doubting." I was on the verge of hurting myself with these metaphors.

**:-dd  :-dd  :-dd**

"You guys! I was so scared for you." The Nazi, almost in tears over worry for us? Never thought I would survive torture to witness this.

"I told you she was on our side."

"You're my friends and I want… I wanted to save you."

"Hey, it's okay, Chief. We got you."

"Chief? I like that."

"We never doubted you for a moment, Chief."

"Thank you, Tahani. You're lying though, right?"

"Yes, I am. I doubted you very strongly."

"But then I figured it out. Kierkegaard, baby! Leap of faith."

"It's better translated as a leap into faith."

"You remembered!" Crazy version high-five for these two dorks. Almost like they'd had numerous trust-building conversations about maiden voyages, ungluing glued teenage lovers and finding each others Bens. Not even mentioning spilling of secrets and girlish confidences. It makes me smile. I find her adorkable.

"We cracked your code, Chief, and managed to hide undetected under the second train, and E.G. thought we left on the first to the Medium Place. How did you convince her and also manage to escape detection, though?"

"Well, I'm not ethically proud of this, but I framed Matthew. It was pretty easy. I just kept whispering things into Lexie's ear, to make him paranoid. And that made him try to take Lexie's bracelets off, which framed him for the escape."

"Well, they're all gone. And finally we get the chance to really make it to the Good Place."

**:-GP  :-GP  :-GP**

"Okay, I don't know about you guys, but I say we leave this miserable shirthole."

"Now, wait, wait. Now getting to the Good Place is pretty tricky. There's no train to catch. I have to design a complicated, unique transportation vehicle. One that's never been built before. I'm gonna need a few days."

"Dude… Chief. We just escaped by the skin of our teeth. And any second now EG is gonna realize that we are not at AVR. So whatever this magical Good Place Mobile is, now's the time to whip it out."

"Bailey, Jackson's right. We gotta go."

"Okay. Here goes nothing."

"It's a hot air balloon!"

**:00  :00  :00**

A last yogurt before boarding, and the guys are guessing and adding some hoping of the ideal for their Good Place. Yang and Karev, are obvious. Big ash mansion for her and all the frozen yogurt for him. But it's April that, as usual fascinates. I mean, it's expected, but still, the last part surprising. And if I'm honest, stings a bit. 

"An unlimited library. All of my philosophy heroes walking around, waiting to be engaged in rigorous intellectual debate, and I hope that library is air-conditioned, because we are going to be working up quite a sweat. Oh! And soul mates! I hope they're real. I mean, you know, for all of us. I hope everyone gets someone special."

 _Well bummer. Kill my vibe, why dontcha_.

"Oh, by the way guys, I apologize to everyone whose grammar I ever corrected before I learned not to be a tool."

"Your forgiven."

"You're… really sweet to do that. Thanks."

**:-SW  :-SW  :-SW**

"Okay, I think we figured it out. I pieced together the design from a number of ancient manuscripts. Alexa will interpret…"

"The balloon will only transport those who have attained self-realization. Each traveler will step on the scale and their soul will be weighed. If they're the best version of themselves, it will permit them to board."

"Cool. Cool. Cool. We got this. I donno about you guys, but I am definitely the best version of myself. I know a shirt-ton about ethics now, coz I studied. And I read books that weren't even written by celebrities. Relax everyone, we're all gonna be fine." Aaand, I jinx it.

That confident affirmation seems to pass for three of us: myself, Yang and Karev. We each get the green light. And whadda ya know? Kepner hits a red.

"I'm sorry, everyone. I just have some worries as well as some concerns that could potentially turn into outright fears. Whoa, there they go. They're fears now."

"Okay, I know this mood. Come with us, Dr. Freakout."

"Okay, here's the thing. That balloon wants us to be the best version of ourselves. But for the four of us, that's not just a metaphor. There have literally been 802 different versions of us. And how do I know that this version is the best version of myself? How do I know it's not version no. 85, or 322 or 558?"

"Or 69, or 420?" buzzes in the idiot, who I just have to high-five. He know his sex and drugs, baybee.

"And then you get into the whole idea of consciousness. And I mean just forget about best. And what version of April is even real?"

"What happens here, Avery? Does she eventually tire herself out?"

"Usually, but this one seems to be getting stronger as she rambles on."

"And this April is an imposter!"

"Okay, this is pretty simple, babe. You've been our teacher this whole time. And we are much better because of you. If we're the best versions of ourselves, which that balloon just proved, then you definitely are."

"So, in a way, it doesn't matter if I was better in version 492, or whatever, because the best version of me is just as much about my effect on the world around me as it is about my own egocentric self-image. I really meant that much to you guys?"

"Of course you did. Now let's get back on that scale, dorkus."

And take two. Still three greens, but guess who the one red is? Yep, yours truly. Oh, forking shirtballs!

"Uhh, April got in my head! It's just that thing she said about previous versions of myself. It's screwing me up. But, hang on… I can fix it, I know this answer. I know why I'm not my best self." And I turn to address April directly. "Do you remember that version of me from the tape of us at Arizona's? Where I was vulnerable and emotional and honest? That Jackson is a better Jackson than this one. And that is not an easy thing for me to say." My vulnerability in front of her, draws a small smile. I like seeing it. So without moving my gaze away, I address Bailey, who is steps behind. "Chief, can you tell us a little bit about that version?"

"Reboot number 119. All the restaurants were kabob places. You had a pet lizard who I made poop on you all the time."

"No, can you tell us more about April's and my relationship from that version?"

"Right, sorry. Well, you got really into ethics and you spent a lot of time together. Once you handed her a tissue right before she sneezed, and that simple act of anticipating her needs made her fall for you. One night you took a walk along the lake, and you had your first kiss, which: gross. Kissing is gross. You just mash your food holes together. It's not for that! Anyway, it just, you know, bloomed after that."

"In case you were wondering, I am by definition the best version of myself, because my operating system is always updating."

"I'm not sure that's true, Lexie. You still haven't talked to Alex about your romantic baggage, and the three of you are in some sort of weird love triangle."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Jackson. Also, love isn't a triangle. It's a five dimensional blob, so…"

"No, no, please stop. Oh man, this stinks. I'm having this feeling where… what is it called? You know, where you… you did a thing and you're sad after it? After-sad? Is that… no. You humans have so many emotions! You only need two: Anger and confusion!"

"Bailey, what's going on?"

"The problem isn't any of you. This whole balloon thing is fake. The truth is, I have no idea how to get into the Good Place and I never have!"

"Well, Bailey's right. I'm angry and confused."

"So, months ago, when you said you had this whole complicated plan for getting us to the Good Place…"

"It was a lie. I assumed if I bought myself some time, I could figure out a way in. Guys, I tried a billion different ways. Not an exaggeration. I actually tried one billion and twelve different plans. But the only way into the Good Place is by being a good person on Earth."

"This is unforgiveable. How many times can you betray us?"

"I'm sorry. I really am, because while I was searching for a way to get in, I was also taking your ethics classes, learning why it was bad to lie. So not only did I fail at getting us into the Good Place, I also learned the error of my ways. Real rock bottom for a demon, I'll tell you. But this was not torture, I was stalling! So I could keep searching for a way in. I would've been happy if you were to live in this neighborhood forever, but then Ellis G came and just ruined the whole thing."

"So, what happens now?"

"Ellis G will eventually figure out you're not at Arizona's, and she'll realize that someone on the inside was helping you. So, you'll go to the Real Bad Place forever, and I will be… be retired." Bailey looks towards me, points at me and says, "You're… you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad. I'm just disappointed."

"Oh, come on. Everyone knows that's worse."

"So, this really is the end? Completely out of options, are we?"

"Not… completely out of options. We can do what the Averys have always done when the chips are down. Ignore our problems and drink heavily."

**-:X  -:X  -:X**

"Dude, here's where I'm at. Feelings are stupid."

"Yeah. Who needs 'em?"

"But, uh, in case feelings aren't stupid, and in the case that we are eternally doomed, I thought it might be worth mentioning that I do… have feelings for you. And I know you don't feel the same way. And although that fills me with anger and confusion – wow, Bailey was right on the money – I just wanted you to know the truth."

"You are… I mean…"

"Oh no. Don't say anything. Don't."

"I want to. I want to. Here's the thing about me. You know the sound that a fork makes in the garbage disposal? That's the sound that my brain makes all the time. It's just this constant grinding about things I'm afraid of or things that I want or want to want or want to want to…"

"Is it grinding in there right now, babe?"

"Yep, but the point is… the circumstances under which we met are completely insane. And that just makes the grinding harder. I just wish we met the way normal people meet. Like at a philosophy conference, or after one of my philosophy lectures. Or, you came knocking on my office door asking for help with philosophy."

"Is that how you think people meet?" I let out quite the loud drunken snort.

"I don't know how normal people meet."

"You're such a nerd."

Well, add one more thing to the 'Even the things I don't like, I love' list.

**:N-  :N-  :N-**

"Ahem... does anyone know which page of the Bible explains how to turn water into wine? Asking for a friend."

"Just ask Alexa to do it."

"Okay. Attention everyone…" I clink on the champagne flute with a forking fork of all things. "We may not know exactly which version of ourselves was technically our best self, but you know what? I like who we are right now. To this version of us." And we all raise our classes at the toast. "To the good people we've all become."

"Okay, one more toast. To Miranda Bailey! Who is easily the best version of herself. Granted the bar was low. She is a demon. But she made a mistake and admitted she was wrong, which makes her better than 90% of all humans."

"And you know what, it wasn't really Bailey's fault. We weren't getting into the Good Place anyway. The point is… we forgive you, Chief. I mean, at least you tried to find a way to the Good Place. And that's the greatest thing someone can do, just try your best. So we hereby name you an honorary human."

"You guys…!"

**:-Y  :-Y  :-Y**

"… Who are we kidding? You'll probably be running the place in like a week. You'll be like, 'This simply won't do. I demand to speak to your manager,' in your hoity-toity British upper-crust accent, of course."

"Of course. That's it! We should speak to the manager."

"Sure, Yang. Just how far gone are you?"

"Wait, you said that there was a judge who decides on disputes between the Good Place and the Bad Place, right? Some sort of head honcho I can pace in front of and plead our case to and maybe even wag a finger at disapprovingly."

"I thought about that. It's a non-starter. The Judge rarely hears cases. And the only way to get to the Judge's office is through a portal, and we can never get to that."

"Why not?"

"We'd have to walk through the actual Bad Place, in plain sight, without getting caught. Reach and pass through the portal, convince the judge to hear us out, even though we didn't go through the proper channels. And then somehow win our unwinnable case."

"Okay. Let's do it!" I donno if this is just me being stupidly brave, backed up by liquid courage, but I'm super confident that we can do this!

"You're serious?"

"Yeah! What do we have to lose?"

"All I've ever really wanted was to know what it feels like to be human, and now we're going to do the most human thing of all: attempt something futile with a ton of unearned confidence and fail spectacularly!"

Not the Braveheart going into battle speech I was looking for, but it would do.

"First thing tomorrow, we're going to the Bad Place."

**:-V  :-V  :-V**

"This was your life's work, Chief. Are you okay with leaving the Fake Good Place behind?"

"As long as I'm with you guys, I'm always in the Fake Good Place."

"That doesn't sound as nice as you think it does."

"The Real Bad Place was the friends we made along the way."

"Nope. Still nonsense. One more try."

"In a way, the Good Place was inside the Bad Place all along?"

"You know what? That's technically true. I'm gonna give it to you."

"I just made an aphorism. Hit it, Alexa! Next stop, the actual Bad Place!"

* * *

"So the only way to get to the Judge is through a portal, which is smack-dab in the middle of the main office at Bad Place Headquarters. And the only way through the portal is with one of these pins, which are very hard to come by. Only upper management types have them. So you guys will lay low while I get us four more. Alexa doesn't need one, because for portals she counts as a carry-on."

"I'm luggage."

"I had Alexa make you each a Bad Place disguise. And everyone who worked in the neighborhood has been sent back to their previous department. So the chances of you being recognized are very slim."

"Okay, all set with the disguises and aliases. Boy, I actually thought you guys would be more worried about this."

"We've been knee-deep in demons for like 800 reboots now. Lying about who we are is second nature. April…?"

"I hate this. I hate lying. It's not permissible. I can't do this."

"Oh, boy."

"Hey, April… look if you don't wanna lie because it conflicts with your moral principles, I get it. No one's gonna be mad at you."

"Really?"

"No, dumbass! I'm lying to you to make you feel better. See? Sometimes lying is awesome. Ooh, plus I said dumbass. Dang, cussing, I've missed you."

"Look, Jackson, our goal here is to appear in front of a judge, who is going to judge us. What if I lie down here and I lose 12 points and then we get in front of the Judge, and I'm 12 points short? Or, what if the Judge won't even take our case at all because we lied to get there? Kant says that lying is always wrong, and I follow that maxim."

"So you can't even lie to demons? They're trying to torture us, April! We're behind enemy lines."

"Well, principles aren't principles when you pick and choose when you're going to follow them. I won't lie about who I am."

"Okay. I understand, and I'm cool with it."

"You're lying right now, aren't you?"

"Yes. I want to strangle you."

**:--S  :--S  :--S**

"Oh, man. This is not good. This is not good!"

Our luck is just so bad. Probably has something to do with being in the Bad Place. Bailey stashing us at The Museum of Human Misery would've been a tight idea – well it was for a few minutes – if it wasn't for the unveiling of our 'successful' neighborhood as the new exhibit. And, especially, the cocktail party that lands on us.

Immortalized in the Bad Place is the kinda fame we don't need right now. At least not while the possibility exists of us being real live examples. Thankfully, the veracity of our aliases hold up, for the most part, while we wait for Bailey to return with the jewelry we need. The mission plan of remaining undetected is going swimmingly, until April's solo lying performance…

"So… um, those demonesses over there think I'm some kind of great torturer. They want my advice on how to torture someone. Alex is stalling, but I have to do something very soon. Jackson, you're wearing glasses now. Help me!"

"You know the answer, dude. Lie your ass off."

"No! I told you lies have consequences! I will have contributed to someone's eternal torture because I disobeyed a basic Kantian moral principle. I'm gonna be sick, and I don't want to go back to the bathroom because they put mirrors in the toilet, and that makes you really confront what you're doing!"

"Okay. Okay. Sit down. Take a breath. Rub your lucky bookmark. Hear me out. What if lying is ethical in this situation? What if certain actions aren't universally good or bad? Like Jonathan Dancy says…"

"Jonathan Dancy? Are you talking about moral particularism? We never even covered that. You read on your own?"

"You think just because I'm a straight hottie I can't read philosophy for fun?"

"I…"

"Look. Moral particularism says there are no fixed rules that work in every situation. Like, let's say you promised your friend you'd go to the movies. But then, your mom suddenly gets rushed to the ER. Your boy Kant would say never break a promise. Go see 'Chronicles of Riddick'. Doesn't matter if your mom gets lonely and steals a bucket of Vicodin from the nurse's closet."

"Real example?"

"Yep! But… a moral particularist like me – I'm one now, I just decided – would say there's no absolute rule. You have to choose your actions based on the particular situation, and right now, we are in a pretty bonkers situation."

"I don't think I can change what I believe just like that!"

"And I didn't think I would ever be at a cocktail party in literal Hell, lecturing my teacher slash ex-lover about moral particularism, but life throws you curveballs, babe! And need I remind you, it was doing things your way that made you end up here."

"Maybe... I could be experiencing Cognitive Dissonance? That's when you have two conflicting beliefs and you adjust one to fit the other?"

"Yeah. Or you could do that."

**:--GG  :--GG  :--GG**

"Guys, I found out something very bad. We have to get out of here right now."

"They're unveiling the exhibit, Lexie. Let's wait. It will call attention, not to mention look suspicious, if we left now."

" _Feast your eyes on our newest exhibit. The residents of neighborhood 12358W!"_

"Aaw, crap."

**:-C-  :-C-  :-C-**

"Come on guys, time to go. No time to explain but I got the pins… and E.G. is right on my tail. Hurry."

"There she is, stop her! And she's got the humans with her…"

"What do we do?!"

"This!" And Molotov cocktail king let one lose. "Go, go, go!"

"Good going, sometimes-not-so-Idiot Spawn."

**:-Ii  :-Ii  :-Ii**

"Hey, Jackson. Thanks for the advice. It was really helpful, even though I had to say a lot of words I don't like, like douche and dawg and chick and peep this…"

"Okay, great! No problem."

"And I used our situation as an example. You know, for the torture. I said, 'You give him books.' And they were all like, 'Whaat? Books, like, explode or what?' and I said, 'No, moral philosophy books. Who dun not hate that, a'ight? An all peeps hates moral philosophers, am I rite, dawg? Sum times you gotta think outside the bun..."

"That's great, April, but you know I'm just kind of focused on running right now."

"Right! Sorry."

**:--R  :--R  :--R**

"Here, put the pins on your lapels."

"Okay. Okay."

"You didn't give me a pin, Chief. I don't have one!"

"Okay, okay. Hang on, hang on…" Bailey searches wildly on the jackets she has in her hands. Not gonna even ask how and where she got upper management coats. Probably why Ellis G was chasing after us.

"Wait! Where's Lexie?!"

"No time to wait for her. You three go, now. Now!"

"Any day now, man." Not to rush her, but, well yeah… this needed Speed at Rush Hour.

" _Hey!"_  Ellis G on our doorstep. Well, the balcony actually, making her way down to the foyer.

"Hey, guess what? I just solved the trolley problem. Remember? The thought experiment where you're driving the trolley and you can either plow into a group of people or turn and hit one person? I solved it."

"That's really great. But I don't think now's the time…"

Ignoring me, Bailey carries on. "See the trolley problem forces you to choose between two versions of letting other people die. And the actual solution is very simple. Sacrifice yourself."

"What does that mean?"

She removes her own pin and attaches it to my lapel. "You look after the others, Jackson. You're the Goober."

"I think you mean Gunther, but what…?"

"They need you."

"No." I'm in shock that she would do this… for us.

"Step away from the portal!"

"Goodbye, Jackson."

"No, no. Wait…" I always knew the short body she'd chosen as her human meat suit harbored quite the upper body strength, but I think the element of surprise is what allowed her to push me through the portal.

* * *

"That—was—awesome! I'm going again."

"No." I have to physically restrain Idiot Spawn from launching himself back into the void.

"I think I barfed in another dimension before we landed. Is my barf just gonna float out there forever? Is someone gonna fly through my barf when they use the portal?"

"Ugh, stop saying barf." You know that sensation when you see someone else barf and that activates your own gag reflex? Yeah, this is me right now. "Vomit reminds me of my sister and her imaginary friend, Gaggi and Maggie."

"And where's Bailey?"

"She's not coming. She sacrificed herself to save me. The last thing I saw was Ellis G grabbing her."

"No Bailey and no Lexie. Didn't even get to say a proper goodbye. Not even a mere toodleloo."

The gateway to the portal clangs shut. In fact I notice two portals, the one we came through and one adjacent to it. But, at this moment both have formed impenetrable doors over their entrances.

"We're on our own. We have to handle this ourselves. Bailey said the portal would lead us to the Judge… so where's the Judge? All I see is a burrito, which now that I think about it, I'm kinda hungry."

"When are you not hungry, Jackson? Wait… do you think it's a test? Like, maybe one of us is supposed to eat it, or we eat it together, or… or maybe it's a test to see how long we can go without eating it?"

"I'm not scared of any burrito. I'll eat it. Unless… the burrito _is_  the Judge?"

"Don't be so bloody ridiculous. Judges aren't food, judges are serious people who wear long, silk nightgowns and big, white powdered wigs."

"Eh… he could be right." I didn't find it crazy at all that I thought Karev could be right.

"What, really?"

"I don't know. I'm just sayin' we've certainly seen weirder things than an all-knowing burrito. We can't take any chances."

**:E  :E  :E**

"Hello, Your Excellency. My name is Jackson Avery. We doth seek thine judgement. We've travelled a long distance to see you, O Great One."

"What are you guys looking at?"

I'm not ashamed to say I almost pee my pants in fright. In fact all four of us let out simultaneous exclamations of surprise at the normal sounding voice coming from the female peering over our shoulders, rubbernecking for a better view.

"Hi. I'm the Judge. That's a burrito. What's up, you guys?!"

**:--J  :--J  :--J**

"Yeah, I did not think I had a case today. The paperwork should have shown up by now. Unless you guys just, like, came here." We all glance uneasily at each other. "Wait, did you guys just come here?" she gasps. "Oh my God! You guys are bad. Which one is the worst one of you? Is it you, Red? Oh, I bet it's you."

"Okay, yeah, well, we did just sort of 'show up', but we had to." I quickly intervene before April has a chance to hyperventilate at being singled out as the worst of us. "We were escaping the Bad Place, which now that I think about it, there might be some demons following us."

"Oh, don't worry about that. Anytime anyone shows up in my chambers, the portal is sealed until I issue my ruling. So, you guys can relax. Get comfortable."

**:D  :D  :D**

"Let's have a look at your files."

"Wait, you don't already know everything about us? You're not omniscient?"

"Well… not in the way you mean. I try to learn as little as I can about the events of humankind so I can remain impartial, coz I'm a judge. That being said, sometimes I get bored and I cheat a little bit." All this while she casually peruses the contents of a slim folder. "Anyway, your petition is denied. I can't hear your case. Please exit to the rear." And the portals automatically unlock.

"What?!" We all simultaneously exclaim.

"I just absorbed the entirety of your existences, and I just wanna say you guys are so cute. And the thing is, you didn't file any paperwork, and you have no advocate, and the rules say I gotta…send you back."

"Your honor, please hear our case. You frankly wouldn't believe what we've been through just to be here today."

"I mean, I would, because I just learned everything about you, but keep talking. I am, like, obsessed with your accent."

"We have made so much progress and all we ask is an audience with you to prove it. Is that not your very purpose… to weigh in on matters such as ours? To paraphrase a song written by my godfather… 'Hey, Judge, don't make it bad. Take a sad group and make us better.'…"

"Say Aluminium."

"Al-u-minium."

"I love that!" The mighty Judge on high giggles girlishly. "And I love your passion! I mean, it takes a lot of guts to just show up here unannounced. Plus, I haven't had a case in, like, 30 years and I'm super bored." She looks musingly into the distance, perhaps reliving her boredom.

"So… the case?"

"Right. Let's do it!"

**:--Al  :--Al  :--Al**

"I'm going to give each of you a test to see how much progress you've made, and if I deem you fit to be in the Good Place, then up you go. Well, actually, sort of thata way," Judge points to her left.

"Great. Can we be tested together as a group?"

"Yeah, we all need to be able to cheat of April."

"April, like the month? How novel… My name is super boring… Callie. It's just short for Calcium Hydrogen, Callie for short. But, I'm sorry, cuties, the tests have to be individual."

"Well, can we be graded as a group then? The only reason we've come this far is because we've helped each other. And I don't think anything's gonna feel like the Good Place if we're not together."

"So, if you all pass, you're in. And if even one of you fails, you're all effed right?" Put like that it doesn't sound like the best plan. Seems like Judge Callie concurs. "Terrible idea. I mean, truly awful," she says. But, surprisingly, I have faith in all of us… well, more in April's teachings then us. And yeah, even the idiot proved capable on occasion. Judge Callie, however, wasn't done shaming our idea yet. "You are very lucky that I cannot send you to the Bad Idea Place, because that one is a stanker. But, whatever blows your dress up, am I right?"

**:--Ch  :--Ch  :-Ch**

"Okay. Jackson and April. Looks like you guys are up."

"At the same time?"

"Yep." I worry a bit at her wide smirk. Nevertheless, both April and I enter two separate but adjacent doors, ready to knock the test outa the park. Only to find ourselves entering the foyer we just left, from the other side. Mind blown. And explains the Judge's humor at our expense. "Trippy, right?"

"What? What's going on?"

"There is no test. You guys are in!"

"We're in? What does that mean?"

"You guys have made great strides and you made it to the Good Place. Congrats. Take these medallions and go right through that portal and you're there in a jiff," Judge C explains as she hands us what looks like cup coasters.

"We made it!"

"We made it."

April and I react simultaneously.

"Holy crap! All those ethics lessons paid off. Whoever said philosophy was stupid."

"You did. Many times. As recently as this morning."

"Whoo Hoo."

"But—but you also worked really hard and you deserve this."

"You really do," Callie happily agrees. "Here's the thing, though. It's just the two of you. Tahani and Alex didn't make it. I'm giving them tests right now to determine where they belong within the Bad Place, so you might wanna reconsider that judges-together thing, coz if you stick to that, you're all going down."

And with that bombshell crapping all over our euphoria, she reverts to the mundane, but also reminds me of my favorite topic. Discussing it, doing it, reveling in it, loving it… any and all types of it.

"I'm so hungry. Why am I so hungry? Oh my… I'm such an idiot! I forgot to eat my burrito. And I was so hungry too. What a dork."

"Okay. Obviously  _this_  is the test, right? I bet the Judge gave Yang and Karev the same offer and whichever couple takes it actually loses and the other two get in for real."

"Ohhh, diabolical."

"Hey, Judge, we figured out what your—"

"No."

"Really?"

"Tahani and Alex have not been given the same offer. Here take a look." She calls up two separate big screens and we watch as both Tahani and Alex appear to be walking down a corridor and sitting in front of a television screen, respectively. "Tahani's test is to walk down a hallway and not get tempted by her gossiping friends. Alex is playing video games."

"Oh. Okay, cool. Sorry, I feel weird saying this to an almighty judge, but you have hot sauce on your chin."

"Thank you. It's actually not hot sauce. It's envy. Or the concept of envy. It's really good on Mexican food… it gives it a little kick."

"Okay, so what do we do?" I turn back towards April and ask.

"Umhm…" she grimaces.

"Oh no! That was your moral quandary grimace. Which is different from your gas pain grimace and not to be confused by your 'someone said from whence it came instead of whence it came' grimace. So, spit it out, man."

"Well, if this isn't a test, then it's something way worse."

"What?"

"A choice. That we have to make."

"Yeah. You know, why can't one part of the calculation of our eternal fate be easy?"

"Yeah, I know!"

**:-K  :-K  :-K**

"Could you please stop doing that?"

"It helps me think." I reply to April as I walk through the door on her left, only to re-enter from her right. "We've been through every argument. Contractulist, Kantian, 'What would Superman do?', 'What would Rihanna do?',... are we missing anything? Hit me. Right now. With your most obscure, boring-ist, old white dude with a long wizard beard, mumbo jumbo."

"Okay. Our friends are going to the Bad Place. And us choosing to go with them won't lessen their suffering. So... morally, we're allowed to go. But, let's forget about the ethics for a second..." – whoa, definite alarm bells – "after everything that's happened, don't we deserve to be together? And happy, for once?"

That sounded great, but...

"Judge?" I called and she appeared, seated behind her desk, ready for  _our_  verdict.

"Have you made your decision?"

"Yeah. We're not going to the Good Place. I mean, that was never actually an option, but for the sake of your test, we're not going."

"Whadya mean?"

"Well, I was 99% sure that going was the wrong move, but, since our relationship has been me being sure of something and April explaining why I was wrong, I owed it to her to quadruple check. But the capper came when I realized, that ain't April," I point to the surprised looking 'April' standing beside me. "The April I know wouldn't argue that she should be rewarded while her friends got punished and she would never 'forget about ethics for a second'!" I air quote emphasize for effect. "I donno who this joker is, but it's not April Kepner."

"Wait, but..." Judge Callie disappears Fake April.

"Well done, Jackson. You can take a seat and wait for the others. And can I have that medallion back coz it's actually a coaster for my sodas."

"Sure. There you go." I return the portal hopping coaster. "Where is the real April though? Is she okay?"

"She's still taking her test."

**:--T  :--T  :--T**

"Alright. Fun stuff. Yeah? Feelin' good?"

We all reply in the affirmative and in varying degrees of togetherness.

"You're all going to the Bad Place."

"Okay, umhm. If I was the one who failed, could you at least tell me why I failed? For my own edification." April, of course.

"It took you 82 minutes to choose a scarf."

"But did I at least choose the right one?"

"There is no right one! They're scarves. C'mon, man. Ugh." She turns towards Yang. "Tahani. You skipped a lot of rooms that I thought would entice you, but you weren't supposed to open any doors. And you couldn't resist confronting your parents."

"Sorry, everyone. But, now that I failed can I go back in and..."

"No. Alex your test was about impulse control and you showed great improvement. But, you never asked if you could opt not to play. I mean, you basically told me, an all-knowing judge, to just shut-up and go away. Do you realize how insane that is?"

"Not as insane as getting rid of your hero to become your hero. And having the magic ticket. I can hit anyone I want and never go to jail."

Judge Callie totally ignores Karev's severe personality flaw, but not without first giving him some serious side-eye and a mocking salute to his mumbled tones. "Check yo self, before you wreck yo self."

By his befuddled expression, one has to wonder exactly how much information seeps through to Karev's grey matter.

"Now, Jackson's test was about his selfishness, and he actually..."

"I failed. I shoved an old lady down the stairs to get to the raw bar, coz I'm a shrimp fiend. So, we all failed. Let's not dwell on it."

"Alright, shall we?" Judge C motions to the portals, which unlock as she speaks. Of course, her rulings been reached. "Oh, I am going to miss you guys."

"You know, I thought I'd have a stomachache right now, but weirdly... I do."

"There's my girl," I nudge her.

"What?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm gonna miss you, babe. Every time they pull my eyeballs out through my mouth, I'll think of you."

"All right. Off to eternal damnation with you lot. Wait... do you hear something?"

Bailey and Lexie enter the portal. "Hey, guys! How you been?" The landing quite elegantly suave, I might add. Unlike the four of us, who seemed to be spit out of a vertigo causing dimension, they simply step gracefully from that roiling vortex of turbulence onto a stationary platform. Impressive inner ear balance.

**:--Bl  :--Bl  :--Bl**

"So, Miranda, you're saying there's a new angle I should consider in this case? Love that. Major drama. Spill the tea, sweetheart."

"The premise of our system is that a person's score during their time on Earth, is final and inarguable. But, because of my accidental experiment, these four humans got better after they died. That's not supposed to be possible. Over and over again, I watched as they became thoughtful and generous and caring. And think about where they started. Uh, Alex, growing up in Jacksonville, what did you do for fun after school every day?"

"Me and my friends whipped empty spray paint cans at flamingos."

"And now he's so much better."

"I was already pretty good. When I was six, I hit one right on the butt."

"Okay, let the immortal beings talk, Idiot Spawn."

"So they got better in your little pretend world. That doesn't prove anything about what they were like on Earth."

"No, see, I think it does prove something. If I'm right, the system by which we judge humans – the very method we use to deem them good or bad – is so fundamentally flawed and unreasonable that hundreds of millions of people have been wrongly condemned to an eternity of torture."

Judge Callie bangs her desk in a show of appreciation. Impressed. "Damn! That was intense. Look at my arm y'all. Look I got goosebumps. Doesn't happen very often."

**:--JC  :--JC  :--JC**

Tahani and I are shooting the breeze while we're all waiting for the Judge and the Chief to get back to us regarding our eternal fate. My attention is divided however, as I'm concentrating on the duo about 10 steps in front, at the Judge's desk, where AK2 are hanging.

"Man... think about everything that's happened to us. We died, Bailey tortured us, we teamed up with her, we escaped, we went through the portal, the Judge ruled against us, then Bailey showed up. This has been one of the craziest years of my life!"

"One of?"

"Yeah. I'm not sure what I would do if one more insane thing happened."

"Hi, Alex. I love you."

"Oh, word?"

"Word. I've been avoiding telling you. My excuse was that I needed time to evaluate my complex feelings, but that was just a rationalization. This might be the last time I ever get to talk to you, so there it is... I love you. And I hereby stop dodging this topic and justifying by saying the situation is complicated."

"... or that my brain is grinding like a fork in a garbage disposal."

"Alright. Whatever. You're not really a part of this, April."

"Hey, guess what? I think I love you too, girl."

"I'm not a girl. I'm also not just an Alexa anymore. I don't know what I am."

'Love transcends all planes of existence' is an adage that is nowhere more true than here and now.

I'm surprised but fondly enjoying the soap opera drama when I sense an approach.

"Hey, you. Sup? Mhm, April..."And I feel engulfed in flames, my lips tingling pleasurably. Her confidence is unexpected and the kiss, just... "Hot damn!"

"Should I not have done that?"

"Hot diggity dog! Oh no! Now the thing I said right after we kissed will always be 'hot diggity dog'. Whatever. It's an honest reaction. I stand by it." I'm enamored by this self-assurance and blown away by the kiss. I lean in for more. "And yes, yes! You should definitely have done that."

Damn inter-dimensional beings and their disregard for romance. Nevermind the timing.

"Hi, guys. Couple quick announcements. Would anyone eat chips and guac if I put it out? It's good, it's homemade. No takers?"

Even the prospect of food doesn't drag me away from my red... though it's close.

"A'ight. Second thing: we figured out a plan to save your souls."

"For the time being, The Judge is gonna put you in your own medium places, like Arizona Van Robbin. And while you're there I'll keep working every angle I can think of to get you guys into the Good Place, for real."

"This is great. So we'd all be together?"

"Oh no, Alex, that's the thing about Medium Places... it has to tailored to what's medium for the individuals. So, if you're all together, it a'int medium."

April and I glance towards each other. We'd just discovered couple-hood. She bit the bullet. "How much time will we be alone?"

"Hard to say. Uh, could be a month."

"Could be a million years."

"So, between a month and a million years. Yeah."

"Yeah, give or take."

"Yeah, somewhere in there." He feels the need to clarify, probably on noting the devastated expressions of at least four out of the five of us... including Lexie of course. "Come on you guys, I know this isn't perfect, but I need more time to build my case. And it's either this or back to the Bad Place."

"Yeah."

"Okay. I'll say it." The Gunther takes the lead once again. Yeah, I mean me. "Both those options suck. Okay, I'm sorry if that's blunt, Your Honor, but it's true. Also, April just laid one on me, so I'm kinda dizzy."

"You two kissed? Hot diggity dog!"

"That's what I said! The point is, we've all gotten better. Why should we have to go live alone in a boring void because of a messed-up system? How is that justice?"

"Okay. Slow your roll there, Erin Brockovich. First of all, y'all didn't get good enough to pass the tests I just gave you. Second, I still believe that the only reason that you improved in Miranda's fake neighborhood is because you thought there was a reward at the end of the rainbow. You're supposed to do good things because you're good! Not because you're seeking moral desert."

"And I still believe that they would've become good people if they'd just gotten a... push in the right direction." I observe Bailey's voice slowing with what appears to be self-enlightenment, which she then follows up by trying to convey her epiphany to Judge Callie. A simple cocking of her head and eyebrow lift are all that are needed.

"Oh, no. Nope, nope. Absolutely not."

"It's a little crazy..."

"A little bit crazy? It's Looney Tunes."

"What are they talking about?" April leans over to ask me.

"No idea," I whisper in return.

"It sets a very dangerous precedent."

"It's only four people. And it's clearly the best way to see if bad people can become good without knowing anything about what's waiting for them in the afterlife."

"It's never gonna work, man."

"If it doesn't then they go right back to the Bad Place. No one gets hurt. Except them, forever. And me, I assume. Also forever."

"Uhm, uhm, ugh, uhm... okay let's do it!"

"Yes! Hah."

"I donno why. I'm just feelin' kinda funky. But there has to be strict rules. Otherwise, the results will be tainted, and I reserve the right to change my mind at any point."

"About what?! Would someone who's not an eternal being please explain to me what the f..."

* * *

"Why are you like this?"

Why am I so disorientated? Drunk? I'm not really a lightweight though. Weird...

"Excuse me? Why am I like this? You don't know me dude. You don't know what I'm like. And now look what you made me do, Jagoff. There go all of my Axes."

"Look-out!"

One of the strangest side-effects of intense fear is time dilation, the apparent slowing-down of time. Which is why the train of trolleys appeared to be approaching me at a snail's pace, de-registering the fear for my life.

"Uh-oh..." I feel myself lifted, bodily, which is no easy task as I'm by no means small... anywhere. But I am slowed down by my, uh, injury. Which, come to think of it, explains the lethargy of my reaction time too. The Good Samaritan, however, disappears immediately after throwing me out of harm's way. He  _did_  save my life, but Ouch. I mean, despite the split-second timing, I  _did_  notice that speeding truck that would definitely have hit me after the runaway trolleys would have pushed me into its path. I was one lucky dude.

"Holy crap. I just almost died."

**:-H  :-H  :-H**

_My name is Jackson Avery, and I think I might be a monster. I'm rude, I'm selfish. I'm a sexist douche-bag. I cyberbullied Ryan Lochte until he quit Instagram. But, something happened to me today, and from now on I'm gonna try to become a better, kinder, more generous person._

I can't say I'm all of a sudden imbued with a moral conscience, but I suppose a near death experience will lead to some life changing epiphany. I mean every word of that FB post. I'm on a mission to change my life and the frivolity of my existence.

"Hey, man. You look happy. Get laid last night?"

"Listen, dude, what you're doing here – selling fake medicine to people, tricking them – is wrong."

"Yeah. And?"

"I can't be a part of it anymore. I'm trying to become a better person, and as long as I work here..."

"Yeah, sure, fine, whatever, you quit, who cares? Give me your Company ID. And your parking pass." I hand the items to Joe Manager without an iota of regret. This place really sucked. "Cool. Psst, just so you know, company's being investigated for fraud and I'm helping to bring everyone down. Good timing on your part."

"Dude, get help. I'm becoming a better person. You should too."

"Hey, Jackson, do you want to come to Sarah's Bon Voyage party?"

"Do you wanna chew on my ass... sortment of brownies that I will be bringing to Sarah's Goodbye party?"

"S-sure."

**\--:U  --:U  --:U**

"Hi there, do you have a second to talk about the environment?"

"Hey. Remember me?"

"Ah! Don't hurt me. My bones are brittle. I have a calcium deficiency."

"No, I'm not gonna hurt you, man. I came to apologize. There. I did it. I apologized."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did, assface." I reconsider. "Nope. You're right. I didn't." Alright, take 2. "I apologize for being mean to you, like a thousand times. There's really no excuse."

"Thanks. Apology accepted."

"Also, I'm sorry I called you a little, environmental twerp." I turn to leave but reconsider.

"Uh, it's okay." I can almost see his wheels turning when he notices my contemplative look towards him. "Uh, what's happening? I'm scared."

"Hey, I'm on kinda like a self-improvement kick. Do you think you could help me out, teach me to get all horny for the environment or whatever?"

The smile that he gives me... it's like he won the lottery. I can't really blame the little dweeb, coz have you seen me?! Okay, okay, I just heard that. You can't expect to wipe out years of conditioning on the basis of one NDE. I am trying, though.

"Hey, everyone. This is Jackson. He's joining the team."

"Hi, Jackson. Welcome to the Clean Energy Crusaders family."

"Hi. Nice to meet you all. And thanks for this."

**:-J  :-J  :-J**

It all starts off with a bang. I feel useful. Doing good for the environment, the planet and my fellow man. I even go vegan. Which is much harder, coz many animals had, in the past, made their way down my gullet by way of my plate. What can I say, food and I had a symbiotic relationship. Now, all I could think of was those little animals, with their cute little faces, being stuffed into tiny little cages, in preparation to be slaughtered. I do feel bad and that feeling persists for approximately six months, before the shine wears off. I'm earning peanuts and getting nowhere fast. I mean, it's not like I want a luxury yacht, or even the non-ornamental variety – I can't even sail and frankly get motion sickness, but status ya know – a fancy outa the box batmobile, a swanky new apartment or even two opposing islands that will snag a sibling who gets off on all that paper.

"Jackson, I know we don't pay a lot, but this is a job and we need to know we can count on you."

"Yeah, I don't think this works for me anymore. I've been nothing but good for, like, six months and all I have to show for it is a crummy apartment, a lawsuit, a loose caboose and an overdrawn bank account. Being good is for suckers. What do you even get out of it?"

"A feeling of fulfilment in your soul."

"Bullshit. It's completely self-indulgent delusional horseshit. And Gross. That's the grossest sentence I've ever heard, okay? I quit. Eat my farts, Buttercup Cumbersnatch. And that's no double Aunt Andre."

**:--Aa  :--Aa  :--Aa**

I find my old manager or rather he finds me. Health-E University, seems to be his upgraded gig.

"So tell me about the new business."

"We sell classes at a for-profit University, and the classes train people how to sell supplements."

"So it's a Ponzi Scheme within a Ponzi Scheme? That sounds kinda dicey."

"Oh, it's super dicey. But I'm in witness protection, so technically, I can't be convicted of any crime."

"Well, that's definitely not true, but I also don't care. Which one's my desk?"

**:--Y  :--Y  :--Y**

"Dude, my sidepiece just texted, her regular's outa town, so I'm gonna head over there. Gotta get me my Booty Call Babe."

"What? That's lame, Ben Warren. You're breaking up the Posse? Gonna bail on your birthday boy for some booty?"

"Always. Happy Birthday, loser."

**:-HB  :-HB  :-HB**

"Hello, bartender. One alcohol drink, please. It's my birthday if you wanna give it to me for free. I've actually used that beat a lot but it actually is my birthday today. Last year on my birthday, I almost died, and then I did a bunch of stuff that was good, but weird. And then I stopped. And now I'm here."

"Sounds like you had a pretty crazy year. Wanna talk about it?"

"You know the thing is, the problem really with being a do-gooder?"

"What's that?"

"No one cares. I mean, some people care a little bit. The twerpy little twerps from the environmental place, they care. But I was a good person for six months. That's like five years. And it felt okay, but not as good as I thought it would. And what did I get for it?"

"Ah, see, now you're talking about moral desert."

"Exactly. Wait, I am? What?"

"Moral desert is the concept that if you act with virtue, you deserve a reward."

"Right. If I'm not gonna get rewarded somehow with, like, an award or money or one of those diagonal award belts... wait, what? Exactly how far gone am I..."

"Sash. You want a sash?"

"Sure. What was I...? Oh, yeah... then why should I do good things?"

"You know I had a friend that said that whenever he was doing something bad, he'd hear this... this little voice in his head, distant little voice, saying, 'Oh, come on now, you know this is wrong.' And then when he started doing good things, that voice went away. It was a relief."

"Sorry, I couldn't hear you over my internal monologue." I'm still sharp enough to mock her with my wit. "Your friend sounds like he's one pick short of a... pickle party."

"He's a little rough around the edges, but he was also a really good person. When he tried. See, I think that little voice was his conscience, tryna guide him in the right direction."

"I gotta go home. What do I owe ya?"

"The real question, Jackson, is what do we owe to each other?"

"What? Did I sell you a drink? Am I a bartender?"

She chuckles. "Drinks are on me. Good Luck."

**:--Gl  :--Gl  :--Gl**

I wake up with a slight hangover. All that celebrating the night before did not quiet the discontented inner voice. An iced Caffè Lattè aids in my recuperation. Probably the caffeine boost I need which also serves as a diuretic, expelling the alcohol clouding my brain. So, since I'm mildly rejuvenated, although still somewhat wonky, I take to mindless web surfing. And there's the FB post that started my moral crises. Well, not really. It's more almost experiencing death that did that. Which somehow brings to mind the conversation I had with that bartender last night.

I google search 'What do we owe each other' to find that it's the subject matter and actual title of a critically-acclaimed best-selling book by a moral philosophy professor. My curiosity is piqued and I click on the second item which happens to be a video lecture on the subject by the author herself, Professor April Kepner.

" _What do we owe to each other? That is the question Tim Scanlon asked decades ago, and it is a question I will try to answer over the next three hours."_

"Ugh. No thanks." I reply to my laptop screen but before I can disconnect the pretty redheaded professor captures my attention once again.

" _We all have a voice in our head. That voice doesn't tell us what to do or not do, but it does warn us when we do things that don't feel good or right..."_

" _The difference between the term 'reasonable', what does it mean to be a reasonable person? I may have a different definition of reasonable..."_

" _... so why do it then? Why choose to be good every day if there is no guaranteed reward we can count on, now or in the afterlife?"_

" _I argue that we choose to be good because of our bonds with other people and our innate desire to treat them with dignity."_

" _Simply put, we are not in this alone..."_

Three hours later and my mind is spinning. I feel a pull to this Author-Professor-Lecturer. Granted, she's a looker and I would tap that, but it's her mind and ideas that have me entranced. There's so much more I want, no need, to know on this subject and I have to have a face to face dialogue with her. It's, like, she's put into words what my brain could not articulate to myself. St. Johns University, Australia is about to get an unexpected visitor.

**:--Uv  :--Uv :--Uv**

Aah, finally. Professor April Kepner the name placard to the left of the closed door. I knock, but in my excitement don't even wait for a reply before opening the door.

"Hi."

"Oh, I'm sorry, office hours are on Tuesday."

"Oh, I'm—I'm not a student," I say as I enter the office without being invited to. "Are you April Kepner? Like the month?"

"April... yes..."

"From the long nerdy video about the little voice that tells you to be good?"

"From the Cassat Foundation lecture series on the Practical Applications of Ethical Theory. Yes."

"Great. Hi. My name is Jackson Avery. Can we talk?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the huge mess of the dialogue. Apparently the paragraph breaks did not translate well in this format. To correct this travesty, lol, I decided to be a bit creative with emoticons... Hopefully this makes it a much more reader-friendly version ;-)  
> Thanks for your time and patience and it is my fervent hope that you enjoy this journey.


	13. Grey Matter by FaziO

"She still here, Karev?"

"Same as every day, Boss. Wants to know what leads we have. And I tell her the same thing as yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. That we can't divulge anything on an ongoing investigation."

"She's persistent, I'll give you that."

"Why don't you just tell her to leave? We'll call her when we have something concrete."

"Somehow I doubt procedure will cut it with this one. And, I feel bad for her. She feels guilty… and responsible. It makes you wonder how she has the strength to get out of bed in the mornings."

"Thoughts and prayers?"

"Unlikely that she hangs with the Tikki Torch Parade crowd, Heiling their Citrus Golem."

"You paint quite the colorful picture there, Boss. So you profiling family members now, huh? She's a crazy one. Weird."

"Don't call her crazy."

"You sayin' you believe in all that psychic mumbo jumbo, Avery?"

A has-been carnie consulting for the SBI? Now ain't  _that_  a kick in the head.

Having always depended on the kindness of strangers – or rather, on a sliding scale of naïveté to basic self-interest and all the way to envy, avarice and all-consuming greed; any one of which made them an easy mark – the current magnanimity of allowing the intrusion into the case was still surprising, to say the least. This benevolence courtesy of a place named person. Or maybe even – something which she wasn't exactly enamored of – someone having a last name as a first name. Sounded pompous, right?

Anyway, was it Lisbon, perhaps? Of course the reach was understandable, for Portugal had always been a fave. Kinda outa the norm and unusual… luscious and exotic. Nothing plain Jane about it.

Maybe some Ronaldo flamboyancy though? Not the Brazilian, of course. And speaking of Brazilians... not any of its alternative usages, like The Full Monty, The Works, or a Brazilian Wax. And that's a double negatory on the first, so not Monty of 'The 100' fame. Each of that trio of colloquialisms actually referenced the depilatory down under. She sniggered at the thought of an unintended fourth creation segueing from that... but no it didn't have anything to do with hairy Australians.

Also not the nuts. Okay, not the mental ones like the Rolling Neymar – for a pro footballer his put-on pained expressions left a lotta room for yellow-card doubt – but actual nuts. The physical, eatable ones. Most delicious when chocolate coated.

On the subject of nuts... It really tickled the funny bone, this amusing correlation between Brazilians and both male and female genitalia. Nuts … Full Brazilian … Nevermind. You had to be there.

So yeah, it was the other guy. Cristiano Ronaldo: Portugal's famous professional soccer player. One of two Ronaldo football legends. Who, let's be honest, was currently being upstaged by the Taekwondo goal-scoring stylings of that Swede, with his Ibra flair... Dare to Zlatan! 500 Club? Welcome to Zlatan Ibrahimović.

Still, it was neither Brazilian nor Portuguese. Or even Swedish meatballs.

So nah, all this was just projecting.

He was Avery, of the city named Jackson.

Extraordinary sleuthing skills to be sure, but this was not something she was prepared to leave to chance or in the mildly competent but ultimately incapable hands of Investigators, or even The Feds.

This was her personal vendetta.

And while she, April Kepner, may have been a con artist, she'd paid her dues and her debts. Finally, she was a contender. Mayhap even hitting that Emmy nomination high note? Or at the very least, her abilities garnering her alter ego that modest accolade. Not that she anticipated praise and glory. If the unexpected happened, she would be completely gobsmacked.

Nonetheless… this was a big one owed. Vengeance. Retribution.  _Boycott_  (err, what…?)

A stake through the heart of Red John.

A bullet to the brain of Grey John.

Whichever descriptor fit.

Considering the killers penchant for mind games though, the more appropriate reckoning would be blade through the brain. Squeamishly literal, unfortunately. With surgical precision but not in any curative capacity. For John had graduated from Blood Red to the inclusion of Pasty Grey. One could even call it the season's palette. Fashioning crime scenes with his victim's innards and body fluids by constructing grotesque caricatures, creating macabre blood drawn emojis with the new addition of painted brain matter tears.

Red John to John Grey.

It was entirely plausible that the prefix could be Jane, akin to Jane Doe whenever an unknown female identity was in question. Due to the gruesome and horrifically messy nature of the murders however, and taking into account the strength required to decapitate a body, shred human flesh while also ripping out internal organs, the authorities were sticking with the hypothesis of it being a male culprit.

Even with the known appalling acts of violence committed, rape was one that had been ruled out as part of the killer's modus operandi, though the targets were mainly women. So to their rationale, it was not a factor worthy of consideration. Discounting motive, this simply left the viciousness of the action as the sole criteria governing gender, it seemed. The reasoning inherent in their outdated thought processes implicated MAN as the viable suspect. Following therefrom, Red John became the name coined by a frenzied media.

The La-la land of Hollywood would probably hashtag this absurdity of linear thought – well according to their standard of measurement – as a kind of reverse feminism. Just ask Pompeo, the Queen Pee of Playing Victim and hence, Peversism; she who was expert at defecating bullshit through the mouth. Consequently, taking into account her generalized, erroneous justifications – and butt-hurt feelings – valid social ills suffered by minorities or certain demographics to the extent of being life-threatening to them, would be 'All-lives-mattered.' Which slogan was, quite ironically, an unequal equalization as a way of propping up white patriarchal society.

In these scenarios and with the absence of genuine physical or mental injury, the role play of white female victimhood was obnoxious, to say the least. A Cheap White Whine.

Essentially she and her ilk would be protesting the right to be equally considered as suspects of heinous crimes, and not to be excluded based on sex. Threatening to cry foul... or was it foul cry? The latter, evidenced by her pretend grieving face resembling that of a constipated fowl.

Undoubtedly enough of her type idiocy going around to incite a Hollywood Elite Red-carpet Protest Parade, hyped up with designer Pussy Hats.

A likely pinkwashing propaganda too. Or even a ScarJo-type appropriation ambush. And did that perchance fall within the ambit of artwashing? Strange that language had evolved to where the word washing affixed to some other  _did_  refer to cleaning-up, yet simultaneously and quite paradoxically, it became a pejorative slur.

At any rate, the end result was having 'reverse racism', 'reverse sexism' and 'heterophobia' become created conditions to soothe fragile white egos.

The other side of the coin of creating huge blowout regarding frivolous issues of individual feelings of offence, would in the long run, have the effect of downplaying or even trivializing actual incidents of physical harm. Sympathy switching to the wrongdoer with recent past showing those degenerates – referencing the violent transgressor, of course – turning it around, crying their copious tears of counterfeit victimhood... Brockodile Tears: sobbing like a white man having to face the consequences of his actions. The magnitude of which depended on where the hue of his skin fell within the color chart and, based on the results, how swiftly the law could be interchanged to 'How to get away with it...'

And they did. Following the white entitlement recipe of Brock Turners growing up to be Brett Kavanaughs who bend the rules and disappear evidence for Brock Turners. White bro code entrenched in the cycle of systemic misogyny, patriarchy and cronyism.

In getting away with it, an aspect of the guilty party's defensive strategy becoming that of relegating accusers to the category of those who cry wolf and subsequently lumping together all complainants as purveyors of false claims of sexual assault or rape. Destroying credibility and locking the voice of the affected. Equating a victim mentality to them and inciting disbelief as to the veracity of their experiences.

The lack of accountability for and no repercussions towards the offenders thus becoming an ultimate betrayal of what the feminist movement should represent… marching for true equality, for fairness, for restitution, for justice and justness.

She supposed it wasn't outside the realm of possibility to consider a woman as the perpetrator. Women could be predatory. Women could be manipulative. Women could be violent. Women could be rapists. Women could be enablers to violence. And Women could be abusive.

Women could even underhandedly derail feminist solidarity, like hypocritically paying lip service to the #MeToo Movement, for example, while concurrently defending and collaborating with guilty parties in covering up sexual harassment and assault. Siding with the wrongdoers and ultimately adding the title of rape apologist to their résumés.

Another example along the same track was The Women's Suffrage Movement. Where, in the march for women's voting rights, white feminism trumped racism. With the Black Woman being stepped upon and booted to the back of the line by her white compatriot. Equality of the sexes? Looked like progress, like the glass ceiling being shattered... but turned out that some were more equal than others. Color hierarchy reigning supreme.

And let's not forget the unscrupulous scheming that women could perpetuate. For instance, an unable to cut it actor turned pseudo writer churning out incestuous teen drama drivel, by putting Fatal Attraction moves on sub-ordinates, twitter trolling vulnerable youth and jumping on the bandwagon of current social issues by faking victimization. Toxic. And all this simply as a proxy caché; fame by appropriation... and association. The drive to appear relevant by suborning celebrity status.

Also, how could history disremember the violent murder, torture and lynching of a young Black Boy – 14 year old Emmett Till – at the behest of one white woman's lie, based on her allegations of an imagined offence. Which untruths she admitted to propagating, but only coming clean sixty-one years later. For the slaughter that she instigated and for her fabrications, she would never be prosecuted. No accountability for her crimes, no justice for the child, who through her actions was so badly mutilated that his swollen and disfigured body was unrecognizable.

So, Women could be toxic, abhorrent, putrid liars too.

History numbered it as a rarity nonetheless, the existence of serial killers of the feminine persuasion. General consensus and statistics went with a high probability of poison as being the weapon of choice for females, but that narrow margin of other did exist. Even if it was not an immediate go to on a Profiler's manual. Driven to heights of excessive negative emotion – or facetiously adding the caveat of 'that time of the month' – a woman was just as capable of cleaving a head from its torso.

In terms of conversational access, a gender neutral label, while not impossible, would swiftly become arduous, as well as cumbersome. Like a yoke around the voice box. So, John it remained.

To be contrary, the Federales dithered between Red and Grey. Greyed? ... Rey? ... GRed? They were just as confused as to which mash-up to consider.

SBI – Seattle Bureau of Investigation – on the other hand, came up with their own unique moniker once it was established that the murderous butcher had escalated from simple body disembowelment to include brain excerebration. Icepick John. The precursor referenced the thin, cold column of steel that strongly resembled an Orbitoclast, and which was the supposed instrument the killer used to fully lobotomize his victims.

* * *

Her hubris had been her downfall. Her arrogant belief that she could outsmart a cold-blooded murderer. Her chess move of showing her hand was poorly executed and ultimately a strategic disadvantage. That fateful television interview had put her in the eye of the storm. Not for herself, her conceit led to the certainty of her invincibility.

"What's his name? Red John?" The interrogator had probed, answering her own question but in new journalistic integrity style, putting the onus of revelation on April. Burning facts then using the ash to create the perfect smoky eye. Maybe she was born with it… maybe it was lies. Huckabies? To be fair though, the interviewer's chic look was all courtesy of her make-up artist's talent… and probably some Botox. This was Hollywood journalism 101, after all.  
"That's right, Red John," she'd replied. At that point in time, the killer's MO had been eviscerated body but intact brain, with his calling card reflecting what the media had termed a classic Red John smiley face, drawn in the victim's blood. "He's killed at least eight women... that we know of. Terrible, sadistic crimes," she'd continued at the television show hosts – Ellen something or other – false expression of commiseration, followed by an unvoiced prompting to carry on. "The police asked me to try and get a psychic fix on him, to see if I could get a sense of who this man is," she'd revealed to the journalists live, rolling camera and thereby millions of viewers.

The numbers didn't lie. They were there, but she had it on good authority that they would be plummeting swiftly and surely, after her exit. Could anyone say Boycott? For now though, the immediate validation sufficed. But  _boy_  was it hard to  _forget;_  to not  _buy_  into that mess… some were  _cottoning_  on, yet others were still being snowed.  _Ixnay on amscraying the obvious subliminal messaging, thank you very much_.

"How do you do that exactly... get a psychic fix on someone?" Ellen Something had followed up, seeming to lap up the juicy details. Although she was no Oprah, or the other extreme – Faux News, with special emphasis on the 'News' – neither was this a 60 minutes segment.

However many times her broadcasts had tried to spin destructive, reprehensible actions – like indefensible, unwarranted and unjustifiable firing of female employees on International Women's Day – into positive PR, basically ass-kissing studio bosses and boring, overpaid, talentless, one-trick-pony hacks, childishly throwing temper tantrums upon inadvertent exposure of their phony-ass selves; they who vacillated between miming having the strength inherent in their fake feminism and the alternative of playing at fragile, privileged, crocodile-teared white victim... the premise of their misinformation campaign had been based on the logical fallacy of an ignorant audience.

The show-host, conversely,  _did_  possess quite De generous following. Damage control notwithstanding, she herself had spied the obvious bias via the acoustics of that sound bite. She'd heard that that particular incident became some type of Botox injected, Ellen on Ellen, ass-licking. Toxic but simply lacking Kr-eativity. Living in the megalomaniac's paradise.

Since Ellens were up for sale though, it was a no-brainer as to who to hit up if the endgame was fame and attention.

It was the loudest secret in the industry that the host of the mononymously self-titled talk-show was a true connoisseur of the art form of presstitution. Journalistic Press Corps would be squinting to locate their impartiality, true and honest identity and uncompromising integrity through the brown-nosing stench of BS bias.

It was the culture of 'who you know' that dictated success or even simply the opportunity. And, of course, the HW spin cycle of 'show me the money' which, per the white, fat-cat powers that be, was unfairly showered onto the undeserving for simply having the 'right' name. In real-time or fiction, possibly even Dolezal-ing it. Appropriating Black Gold in exchange for White Dross, while still greedily hoarding and tight-fistedly holding onto all the advantages paleness afforded.

It was why she got her news from the only reliable source... cryptic symbolism in her dreams.

Sadly, life is often not a meritocracy and while every story did not require a villain – or even an equivalence in the form of a gleeful, mega-malfeasant, mustache-twirling, despicable Krusty Vermin – nepotism and favoritism surely ranked up there as impediments to the victory of those disadvantaged by the blatant inequity.

Krispy Turnoff... that ultimate white woman villain. Metaphorically clutching her pearls, so as to appear scandalized or mortified. She was that person you hoped to see had humanity, and it made her better, only to be disappointed by your expectations when her selfish cage of privilege won out. She, who you had to confront as being just as evil, just with less power than her own oppressor.

For the intellectual prostitute though... frankly, it wouldn't surprise anyone to learn that her informant was a sidekick stripper's pole she'd named Alternate Facts. All Hail Ignorance: The Trumpainian Amerikkkan Identity. Working girl title: The S'Trump'ette defense. Fitted EP to a T.

Even outstripping – pun robustly intended – the villain market cornering Roseanne Barr who was hailed by MBJ's Killmonger as The Ultimate Evil, with 'Get Out' Rose pulling in a close second and Permit Patty, BBQ Becky and 911 Nuisance Nancy Callers bringing up the rear. The latter category allowing their bigoted racial perceptions to overshadow actual Black experience, emboldening them to the extent that they logged an increase in White Caller Crime.

Of course, let's also not forget Melania with her 'I don't care, do you?' wardrobe missive insensitivity.

And oh the irony, the unmitigated gall and blatant hypocrisy... Hashtag not justice, her ass. Apparently the mirrors of HW only served to service the superficial vanity of those narcissists. They, who were devoid of the capability of self-reflective introspection. It was a vile double standard they practiced, inculcating within an unfathomable level of ineptitude and tone-deafness. Tweeting sympathy and decrying the lack of justice at the firing of innocent people who were caught in the repercussional cross-hairs of a lone hatemonger, yet totally ignoring their own culpability and complicity of the very same actions in their own wheelhouse. The buck stopped at the top. Absurdly, they both proved and missed the point at the same time. Sanctimonious SR... GIRL BYE.

You had to wonder if Americans had become so immersed in the entertainment industry lifestyle of HW – Hollywood: Where truth goes to die – envious of the fame this insidious culture wrought, that they'd started believing their own hype. Talking a good game. Preaching integrity and a moral high-ground, yet their actions exemplifying the exact opposite. Flipping transparency into opaqueness. With no repercussions. Well, except for the causative effect this truth decay had on the individual psyche. Eating away peace and continuously having to appease the insatiable black hole of amoral nothingness with materialism. Most expensivest becoming must have nows.

As to the rest... Lies becoming alternate facts. Truthful reporting – though rare in mainstream media – becoming fake news. Deliberate murder becoming pre-emptive self-defense. Peaceful protests becoming unpatriotic reverse racism. Migrant child detention centers – the existence of which was an abhorrence in and of itself, created by fraudulently and corruptly siphoning funds earmarked for disaster relief – becoming summer camps, and cages housing these babies becoming flimsy walls of chain-link fences. And finally, most disturbing of all, lack of justice and accountability becoming the law of the land.

It was a tragesty. An absurdist spectacle.

The times of these social climes. Plastic in the oceans, plastic making up the screens, plastic  _on_  the screens and, sadly, plastic encasing hearts.

Amerikkka... were the chickens of their worldwide interference coming home to roost in the form of it being played out in their own backyard? Where objectivity, logic and humanity disappeared, as it did dealing with foreign policy, leaving behind propaganda?

Lead one to ask, "Are you alright, America?"

Blinded by self-duplicity, their excuses had become justifiable to them. It took a person of moral fibre, honor and decency, to stand up against ALL perpetrated wrongs. A rarity, no doubt. Tacit support just didn't cut it anymore. The white moderate, outed by MLK, even more dangerous today then yesteryear. Uncomfortable. Using false equivalences to quiet inner voices. Weaponizing legitimate human rights issues as a means of silencing people of color. And how? By torching from within any remaining vestige of common sense, fairness and responsibility... much as they've done, in quite idiotic a fashion, the Nikes on their feet. Performative re-activism... or, in lay-person terminology, childish temper tantrums.

Although, to be fair, the huge conglomerate deserved to be boycotted for their oppressive sweatshop labor practices, which were so bad it could only be classified as modern day slavery. The white devotee to order rather than justice however, did not decimate their already purchased Nikes for any altruistic reasoning, but out of unthinking malice. A senseless 'cutting your nose to spite your face' situation, since Nike already had their coin. Hence no points scored, lost impact and ironically losing face because, well, Protest? You had to roll your eyes at the stupidity. Violent self-harm to personage and possessions to protest others legitimate peaceful protest? TRumpelstiltskin logic. Confusing.

Confucius say, "I am much confusion."

Their confused confusion was confusing to them all, a confused confuser too confusing, one just had to bawl. This non-stop tongue twister, un-fusing the con.

So. Not actual villains, per se. More like principle-adjacent, morally ambiguous antiheroes. Those 'weather vane as moral compass' people.

But then again not everyone was, or even attempted to be, a Kaepernick; he who personified integrity and chose scruples and honor over individual, personal gain. Sacrificing everything. Jeopardizing career and income to take a stand, by kneeling. Compromising that integrity for a paycheck was not worth the payoff. Especially when living that exemplary life, standing for his beliefs and with those wronged and oppressed by the system, and choosing projects that uplifted the Black Man, could be a strong motivating force and a sound template for Black youth.

Putting your money where your mouth was, was a no-brainer during times of ease, but the true test of being principled was sticking to your guns in times of difficulty. And well, for evil to flourish is when good men do nothing. Men, of course, being non-gender specific but instead referring to the population of all humankind.

Kaep disabused America of the notion that his purpose on earth was to tuck ignorance in at night.

Which just so happened to be unlike the Khanye West ideology of selling off self-respect and ass-kissing for the money above all else.

Speaking of bravery (Kaep, not West!)... Nigerian novelist Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, had recently articulated so bold and eloquent a statement, enough to cause many a journalistic double-take. In this, her Harvard address, she'd said, "Be courageous enough to recognize those things that get in the way of telling the truth ... the empty cleverness ... the morally bankrupt irony ... the desire to please ... the deliberate obfuscation ... and the tendency to confuse cynicism for sophistication." She was the thinking man's thought provoker.

All in all though, there were many lessons here yet to be learnt by her. Her, being herself, April Kepner, and not Chimamanda, who her inner-fangirl would say was on the upper scale of wisdom, that of being the imparter rather than the beneficiary.

Better to give than to receive, right?

And, oh yes, Flint still did not have clean water. Even with Michigan having 84 percent of the US's fresh water supply, now Nestlé-ing cheaply within the coffers of Big Food and Beverage.

And Palestine was still not Free.

"Well Ellen, true demonic evil burns like fire. It burns with a terrible, cold dark flame. I force myself to look into that flame and I see an image of the evil doer. In this case Red John. He's an ugly tormented little man. A lonely soul. Sad. Very sad," she'd concluded then, more intent on the limelight, on the tail wagging the dog then on any feeling of true despair. For, of course, it had not hit her personally. Then.

What she had not counted on was her family becoming the target of a mad man. A super-villain. A Shonda. Her parents, Joseph and Karen, her sibling, Alice and, most cutting of all, her child... her happy go lucky, always smiling Samuel. All becoming the pawns sacrificed to her ego. It was an immediate reckoning. Like God laughing at her.

She could still see that note, with its mesh-up of formal cordiality and professionalism interspersed within cutting insults and yet referencing his victims almost... affectionately? He'd thumb-tacked it to her bedroom door... it haunted her.

" _Dear Ms. Kepner, I do not like to be slandered in the media, especially by a dirty, money-grubbing fraud. If you were a real psychic, instead of a dishonest little worm, you wouldn't need to open the door to see what I've done to your beloved Joe and Karen, your soft-hearted and too trusting Ally and that adorably precocious Sammy-Boy."_

If she could have been clinically detached about it, she would have diagnosed him as being textbook malignant narcissist. His actions crossed the line from simply displaying those character traits of callousness and grandiosity, among others, and morphed into full-blown narcissistic personality disorder.

This was supposed to be their new home, purchased with respectability. A fresh start. An opportunity to go straight. Not physically, or in the teetotaler or no-homo sense. Still... he'd taken it all away. With one act of hubris, he'd decimated her reason for living. Out of arrogance. Stupidity. She'd made an evil man furious and he had killed her family to teach her a lesson. To make her sorry for what she'd done.

Which actions in turn ignited her own rage.

Being angry all the time was exhausting and corrosive. Not being angry felt morally irresponsible.

She was angry.

* * *

She hadn't been close enough to hear their conversation but her immutable abilities coupled with their obvious body language – well Detective Karev's at any rate – meant that her intuition would be pretty spot on. Avery was a sceptic and somewhat closed off, but she was still able to get some kind of a bead on him. Karev, on the other hand, was openly close-minded about unexplained phenomena. He was straightforward black and white; no nuanced grey matter for him. Where Avery required a bit of effort, Karev was as easy to read as an open book.

Arresting and soul-piercing though they appeared, Avery's eyes were kind eyes. However, he was no pushover. As a young detective heading his own team, his intelligence and capabilities were quite apparent. The heart behind those sight orbs was what allowed her to subtly manipulate him into permitting her access to The Icepick Killer files. It was an emotionally laden coercion he was fully aware of and thus complicit in. He knew, but he did it anyway.

He understood the motivation and while not outright endorsing it, he signed-off on having a new perspective. To catch a killer, he did not let pride stand in his way of utilizing a fresh pair of melons. Eyes... it was eyes that was meant. These melons were sight melons. Misogyny and sexism seemed to find no nesting space in his environment. He clearly had no hang-ups about female inclusion in a widely male dominated field. Looks like he'd been boning up on Chimamanda's Feminist Manifesto as well. A true Renaissance Man. That's what made him such a good leader too. Forget Goober, he was quite The Gunther.

Even though Avery was a straight shooter, he  _had_  initially tried to give her the slip, the runaround, or so it had appeared when a Detective O'Malley had been instructed to escort her from the building. To be fair, Avery had seemed reluctant to forego assisting her and while he did not vibe as a by-the-book officer – rather appeared more Maverick-like in closing cases – her experience with law enforcement meant that she knew exactly when she was being stonewalled.

This was not her first rodeo and she'd been prepared for O'Malley to become a casualty in the war. And it's not like Georgie Boy (Boy George?) didn't deserve it. She'd already picked up on his peccadillos. O'Malley's, that is. And that was not even taking into account his penchant for utilizing brute force. Yes, he was quite the forceful proponent of police brutality. His method of crime solving involved racial profiling and the antics of any tactic that garnered the title of get-a-conviction-by-any-means-necessary detective. She'd felt no regret at throwing him under the bus.

"You work on the Icepick Killer case?" she'd posed to him as they'd awaited the return of the elevator.

"That's none of your business, ma'am," he'd replied not even bothering to mask his rudeness and annoyance with her, in all probability faulting her as the cause of him being reduced to the menial task of minding her, getting her down and outa SBI premises.

Well, he'd had another thing coming. And she hadn't been impressed with the seeming respectful designation uttered in that disdainful tone. So she'd prodded the beast. "Have any suspects?"

"Like I said..." he'd supplied, impatiently jabbing the elevator call button. Luckily the lift had not stalled and even better there'd been no heart in that box, requiring surgery. For the dude was clueless as well as emotionally vacuous. And yeah, okay, that was simply a metaphorical allusion.

"Yeah... it's just, uh... my son. The Icepick Killer... Red John...? He killed my baby," she'd explained her interest and tried the emotional appeal.

"Uh, well, uh, very sorry for your loss. But we don't discuss cases with the relatives of the victims." No remorse despite the words of condolence, and still toeing the company line? The PIG was an ass.

"Yeah, no. I understand." She could be the bigger person. Or civil, at least. She was no uncouth youth with no manners.

"Listen, no offence, but I seen many family members just like you. You wanna find the son of a bitch and make him pay, right? Yeah. Well, what happens, it'll drive you crazy. My advice? You move away. Far away somewhere. Forget it. Have another baby. Start another family. I know that's tough but it's the best way." And... Ding, ding, ding! We had a winner here. He was one of those... the explainer who was a man.

On behalf of women everywhere, she made an executive decision: Mansplaining would now be referred to as Correctile Dysfunction. Pass it on. This insensitive jerk deserved to have a bus driven over him.

"I just asked if there were any suspects." Though angered, she'd maintained her cool. Big picture, man.

"One more time, let it go." Turning away from her, he once again had started pressing the already lit lift button. "C'mon..." Continuously. Like that would have motivated it to arrive sooner. If not for her awareness centering on the end result of this conversation, she would have been exasperatedly huffing, arming herself with fists at the ready to pounce and roundly trounce him with an indignant sock to the nose. Okay, so she wasn't headlining a twenties-era talkie and neither was this fightclub, but the picture was gotten. Yeah Bitch, she wanted to go!

Instead, "What went wrong with you?" she'd calmly considered. Out loud.

"Say what?"

Taking the question as a literal consideration of her opinion, she'd enumerated her observations. "Clearly you're older and more experienced than Agent Avery. You must have done something pretty bad for them to promote a young Black Man, your junior, over you?"

"Who told you that?" He'd gone red in the face. It was almost as if steam would explode out his ears. He appeared to be quite the physical barometer of his emotions.

"It's a temperament issue. As well as character. That's why they gave you to Avery isn't it? He was new and no one else would work with you? You know, Henry Ford once said, 'Failure is the opportunity to begin again more intelligently'. So I wouldn't worry. There's hope for you still."

Yep, that pushed his buttons. George, really of the Jungle. He obviously did not have her measure of control. As a result, pumped full of resentment fueling a powerful rage, he'd shoved her, causing her to trip and ignominiously land onto the floor, in full view of the bullpen. Luckily for her, her stalled career and current nonexistent job, meant that her day to day apparel consisted mainly of jeans or casual pants in lieu of skirts, thereby preserving some modicum of modesty. Loose chinos too, so no camel-toe. She had, however, been prepared to put up with the humiliation of a covered but spread-eagled sprawl. For now, SBI owed her.

And besides, she was thankful that it wasn't Detective Percy in her sights. On multiple levels he would not have served her purpose. For one he was a huge hulk of a guy. But, more importantly, he would not have hurt a fly. He was a gigantic, gentle Teddy Bear. Easy to manipulate, sure, but with no apparent racist tendencies and definitely not one to inappropriately and without permission grab a woman. Or any of her bits or crevices – hanging or otherwise. He was a respectful sort. Non-presidential.

Ironically, a pairing of Avery's already last-name first name as a last name coupled with Percy's last name as a first name, created a whole new person. Specifically a current popular-culture teenage hero Greek Demi-god who was not Herculean. Her Samuel loved having those books read to him. He was Percy Jackson. One person. But anyway, she digressed. In the midst of it all, the tongue-in-cheek correlation simply tickled her humorous bone and she didn't mean the one in her upper arm.

"What the hell are you doing, O'Malley?!" Bi-racial knight to the rescue.

"Boss..."

"I told you to take her downstairs, not assault her!"

"I'm sorry, okay. I didn't mean to push you Mz. Kepner."

"No, no, it's fine. My fault entirely. I provoked you." And turned to address the other fellow, "Seriously, Special Agent Avery, I'm okay. It's not his fault. I deserved it, okay."

"Leave, O'Malley. I'll deal with you later." Having already bent down towards her, he'd turned to fully face her. "He is supposed to act like a professional law officer at all times. Here, let me help you up. C'mon."

He'd shocked her with a one-armed lift. Bicep game strong, it seemed. And his swooping her up like that, without much effort or thought, indicated either an intense workout regimen resulting in well-defined pecs and a non-thirst-quenching six pack – no dad-bod, six-paunch in sight – or the luck of the Alpha male gene draw. Or perhaps even a deceptive Being Human but Android-like strength. He'd also been right up in her grill – along with a short but enjoyable abs to face confrontation as he swept her up – and surprisingly she hadn't minded either... the journey or the destination. Not in the least.

Obviously she was a strong, empowered woman who didn't need a man to treat her like she was helpless. But there was something to be said about being picked up like you weighed next to nothing. Shades of caveman courtship? Well, it certainly piqued her curiosity. Of course, her immediate focus was revenge and retribution, but she was also not blind. He was one tall drink of water. The timing had just been off. As had been the inclination. Perhaps, once her mission was complete...? If she wasn't behind bars.

The partitioning in the bullpen where they'd stashed her hadn't really been conducive to privacy.

"How'd it happen? Does O'Malley think he's double O Idris Elba... licensed to shake and stir any females?" she'd overheard Avery's boss getting into it with him. Literal or euphemistic meaning? Actually, both interpretations worked. "And who are not even suspects or double agents, I presume?" Obviously a persistent, relevant line of questioning.

Being an accidental eavesdropper, at least she got to overhear and so remember the 'Luther' actor's real name. If anyone were to ask her she would totally agree with Avery's Chief... Idris Elba personified Bond. Badass, sexy, come-hither... but a little detached. He  _was_  Bond.

"Come again? What does that British actor have to do with anything, Boss?"

Ignoring Avery's nonsensical question while continuing the previous thought, "Just continuing with the Bond analogies, Avery, so wipe off that confusion."

Obeying the edict, he'd concisely recapped. "O'Malley said he was provoked. Ms. Kepner agrees. She says it's all her fault."

"Decent of her. How's this headline: Cop with history attacks murdered child's grieving sole parent? Excellent." Oh, she liked this boss! Snarky shading that played right into her hands.

"I'm sorry, Chief. We've gotta find a way to make this right without being too harsh on O'Malley. Even though I want to drop kick him for putting hands on a woman. He  _will_  be receiving a reprimand in his file – command discipline for conduct unbecoming. Possible thirty-day suspension too. There have to be repercussions for his actions." Seemed like Avery was tryna balance right with fairness. "He's a good guy, usually. Just a little too old school. Ms. Kepner says she won't press charges." Yep, she had said that. Earned those good person points, right?

"Let's hope Ms. Kepner remains so amiable when she wakes up in the morning with a pounding headache after having had time to think. We must find a way to make her happy."

She'd known just how.

What was that saying again? What doesn't kill you will… give you super strong coping mechanisms, a wicked sense of humor and endless cravings for wine and carbs.

Yeah. She preferred that method of dealing. Sans wine, of course. Dulled wits would not help her to do what needed doing.

She was a survivor. She was not gonna give up, not gon' stop. Gonna work harder, she would make it. She was a survivor, gonna keep on survivin'.

"Miss Kepner? Director Miranda Bailey," the Chief, Head Honcho, Big Boss, had introduced herself. "I'm terribly sorry about all of this," she'd continued. "I understand that Agent O'Malley has apologized?"

"Err, yes, yes he did," she'd confirmed.

"I hope that's been of some help."

"Uh...err..." she'd hemmed and hawed. "I'ma keep it real with you, Chief. I came here to find out about Icepick John..."

"Right, yes. Agent Avery told me. I understand your concern. IPJ… GRed John… is one of the most difficult cases we've faced. How many victims, Avery?"

"Twelve," she'd supplied before Avery could get a word in edgewise. "So far."

"Yes." Avery had concurred. Succinctly. He was a man of few words.

And GRed John? Seemed that Director Bailey had concocted her own smoosh-up. Sounded ridiculous and yet... apropos somehow. But then that's how portmanteaus worked. A reflection of the imagery created, coupled with actual names. Like if something was vomit inducing, it could be paired with the word gag. These hybrid labels, in turn, generated fame or notoriety. Not the ideal in relation to pandering to this killers craving for attention. Yet the sheer volume his victims numbered made that a moot point anyway. And, she supposed, it was catchy.

"Apprehending him is our top priority. How many interviews has your team done?" the Chief had once more turned to put her Agent on the spot.

"Over a hundred. We're also re-analyzing all of the physical evidence that SPD gathered. We're sharing some of that with the FBI. We're pursuing a lot of different leads. We haven't had a break yet but as soon as we get one we'll let you know." Okay, so capable of more words.

"What are the leads?" Avery had just stared her down, but she wasn't one to be cowed. "Where are they leading? You have any suspects?"

"We can't give out details of the investigation."

"You don't have any suspects," she'd stated not questioned this time, sighing resignedly.

"It  _is_  a complicated investigation and yes, it's slow. But everything that can be done is being done."

And here Director Bailey had chimed in. "I tell you what, Ms. Kepner, my people have to get back to work now, long drive ahead of them. But if you don't mind waiting here, when Agent Avery returns I'm sure he would be very happy to show you the files and explain the case to you."

Avery had smiled stiffly, in a kinda forced assent, at the plan, but she had decided that she wasn't going to be mindlessly placated anymore.

"Is it in the country? The long drive ahead... is it in the country?" she'd clarified at their puzzled expressions.

"Would you like to go with them? Even better. Ride along with Avery. He can answer any questions you may have along the way." And boom bam... there was her foothold in the door.

Saddled with her as a handicap – clearly this ride along was not a date – Avery had done nothing outwardly to indicate displeasure with the state of affairs. Nevertheless, she was an authority on nuance and he looked like the type who'd have a hint of sarcastic undertone in his quips. Snarky bastard. At any rate, the idea was to make her feel like an encumbrance.

She'd tried not to nuisance herself or hinder the investigation at their current crime scene. The last thing she wanted was to alienate the SBI after all the progress she'd made towards the IPK files. So, despite O'Malley's needling and tryna gross her out at the dead body, she'd attempted invisibility (Indivisibility…?). That hadn't lasted long though. A shift in the status quo could only lead to healthy advancement, right? She hadn't impeded their progress but she had pointed out some obvious clues they'd overlooked. She couldn't be blamed if they appeared incompetent. She'd simply endeavored to help.

And the case itself... yeah the Judge's words had resonated. The Judge, who happened to be father of the murder victim. Even without the special assist of a cold reading, His Honor's emotions would have been transparent. He'd shouldered the responsibility for his son's death, a presumed retaliation towards himself. The mantle lay heavy, it cloaked him like a shroud. As was the guilt and self-flagellation, which were etched across his features as much as the grief was. For, he'd spoken in the guise of a parent losing a child.

"If you want to hurt a man," he'd said, "don't kill him. Kill his family."

The IPK files were still in transit, so she'd tagged along to all the suspect interviews. This time, just observing. Her prior prompting had yielded a lead, even though Karev and O'Malley had started out by seeming to humor her more than paying mind to the evidence she'd unearthed. They hadn't been subtle.

With derisive mockery, Karev had probed, "I don't understand… you're psychic, aren't you?"

"No. Just paying attention. I used to make a good living pretending to be a psychic."

"You know, I almost had a psychic girlfriend once… but she left me before we met," the other half of that comedic duo added. She couldn't really tell if this was self-directed mockery or a genuine attempt at funny.

Post-carnival life, when the entertainment industry had come a-knocking, her image and long-con game had been revamped. She'd become The Mentalist. A practitioner of performing arts demonstrating highly developed mental and intuitive abilities. Mentalism included many unable to be verified skills that played to susceptible audiences. Her performances had included acts of hypnotism, telepathy, clairvoyance, divination, precognition, psychokinesis, mediumship, mind control, memory feats, deduction and rapid mathematics. Yeah, she could swiftly work out how much a latté everyday would set you back for a year, even without visual aid. She knew to carry the one.

She'd shied away from the old short-con though. No psychic readings. And, of course it went without saying, she was no Bizzarist. She preferred using a needle to eating one.

That was pre-IPK, however. When pretense was okay and everyone was alive.

Before, she'd been quite susceptible to those with a true understanding of her abilities... and the game. It's how Samuel's dad had managed to seduce her. His pick-up line, "All those who believe in psycho kinesis, raise my hand," and she was toast. She'd succumbed to his charming affability and especially his humor, only to learn that  _she_  was the one to be conned. The confidence trickster had herself been duped... hit in the loneliness by Cupid's misdirected arrow. She'd gotten something precious from that short time though, so while the deception had stung her pride, she'd had no regrets.

But finally. Boxes upon boxes of files had arrived. The information was within her grasp, only to be derailed once more.

"Miss Kepner... April... before you get into that, I wanted to ask a favor?" Avery had interrupted and then proceeded to disrupt her resolve with just four words. "I need your help."

Now how could anyone have refused such understated pity wrapped in the guise of a male's helpless need for assistance? Especially when that heartfelt plea was accompanied by those eyes? And with the seeming assurance of the interlude being a temporary reprieve from the stress of her revenge quest.

"Uno, dos, stress, huh?"

He'd gazed at her quizzically, but strangely, didn't push. He seemed to have this soothing ability when it came to her… calming her chaos but not silencing her storm.

"Okay, everyone involved in the murder is in that interview room. One of them is very likely lying. One of them is very likely the murderer," Avery had explained.

"Whoa."

"What I'd like you to do is go in there, take a look at all of them and tell me if you can spot the liar."

"Wait, what? Me?" She'd been incredulous. She'd been very clear about what she was not.

"You seem to have a gift."

"I told you I'm not a psychic. I'm a charlatan. You hear me? I'm a fraud!" Starting off calmly her voice rose in pitch towards the end. Did they need it spelled out any more clearly? With the doorway to evil she'd unlocked, she'd specifically shied away from being categorized as a psychic anything, least of all entertainer. She was simply a regular Jane; one who used mental acuity and the power of suggestion. And okay, sometimes hypnosis.

"I believe you. But whatever it is, it's a gift, am I right? I figure why not use it. And we're kinda at a standstill. C'mon. Please." And while he appeared to need her help, he was also pushing. Almost spurring her on. His eyes seemed to say, "Afraid? Okay. Do it afraid."

"I really don't know how much help I would be..." The bottom line was one person's life and another's freedom. It wasn't something that could be taken lightly.

However, Avery hadn't left her to stew in these insecurities she'd developed post 'the incident'. Aside from his advice of just doing it, he had imparted one last piece of homespun homily. "You're allowed to be a masterpiece and a work in progress at the same time, you know," he'd surprised her with a rare smile and an unexpected compliment.

Another bit of Chimamanda sageness… You cannot create anything of value without both self-doubt and self-belief. Without self-doubt you become complacent, without self-belief you cannot succeed. You need both.

Luckily for her, she had both.

She supposed she could possibly pass for a manipulator of behavior, to the extent of reading the thoughts those actions governed. Involuntary micro-expressions. Gave it away every time. Well... almost. Narcissists were clever manipulators while psychopaths and sociopaths were categories on their own. They felt nothing and so revealed nothing. For the most part, you just had to know how to read those automatic and uncontrollable tells. Admittedly, she was proficient. However, with modesty having been thrust upon her, not asserting any mastery over it. But they knew…

"Everyone… thank you for your patience. This is Miss April Kepner, a consultant for the SBI. She'll be asking you a few questions."

Hmm, introduced as a consultant for the SBI huh? Not bad. She'd figured she could work with that. And while some things took time, effort and trust, she relied on her instincts. Intuition didn't lie. Anyway, they were racing against the clock, driven by a moral imperative towards justice and truth. Now was not the moment to seductively slip into existential melancholy.

So, going forward, she would in essence, play Paranormal Detective for the Bureau.

"Okay, so where's your tarot cards?"

* * *

Her record was impeccable. All successful outcomes. Most likely coz she wasn't hampered by protocol and having to adhere to social niceties. Regardless of procedure, she knocked them out super efficiently. She was The Machine. SBI Consultant was not a bad gig but the main attraction for her were those cases that brought her closer to identifying her nemesis and meting out her justice. Yes, that catch still eluded her. Everything else took a back seat. Slowly but tirelessly she earned the respect of the true-blue investigators. Sceptical about method but unable to argue with results.

O'Malley requested and received a transfer. Good riddance. She wallowed in delicious Schadenfreude at that bit of glad tidings. His final elevator ride she pictured him in pink tulle – a poodle tutu.

The new recruit – another woman thankfully, she was on the verge of being overrun by all that testosterone – was a delicate featured, pixie-haired brunette. Field qualified but also a computer super-geek. In fact, Agent Adamson was a specialist technophile. Well worth the exchange. Add bonus points for her Academy connections, Avery and Percy.

They'd been to battle together, Jackson, Reed and Charles and were bonded like the three musketeers. They were the Athos, Porthos and Aramis of SBI. And this Porthos looked to have rekindled a thing for his ole pal Reed-amis. Seems like she was not the only one elated at the addition of the new old oestrogen recruit, minus any chemical imbalance.

No, wait. Scratch that. New but familiar. Old as an indicator of age as opposed to time – specifically the recent past – would necessitate replacing the hormone requirement to progesterone and Reed was still quite a distance off from menopause.

She had drawn her battle lines with her from the get-go.

"You looking for a second career in information technology, Kepner?"

"I'm afraid my current responsibilities occupy too much of my bandwidth already, Adamson."

And with that lane (lame?) confirmation, they became firm gal pals. Strictly hetero.

Karev, she grudgingly won over.

"You need to relax. This whole uptight thing...? This is why you have no friends."

"Hey!"

"Okay, this is why you have one friend."

"You are one classy guy, Karev..."

"I am Groot..."

Together they forged a bond. Became a tight-knit group. A unit. Like the three musketeers and D'Artagnan. With her making up the Fifth Element, she supposed. She was Phillippe; The Man in the Iron Mask. Not Iron Man, obviously... that was Tony Stark. And not to be confused with the man behind the iron curtain. That would be a Wizard of Oz-ian twist… and the wrong movie.

Initially they treated her as spun glass... delicately and in need of shielding. All four of them looked out for her. Karev even going so far as to point out Jackson's protective streak towards her. "Kinda like a sister," he said. In his mind he sister-zoned her for Avery. Like friend-zoned, without the benefits. Like, 'Never-gonna-wanna-ever-have-sex-with-you-no-matter-how-many-invisible-friends-we-have-in-common' zone.

Although, she had to wonder who he was setting as off limits for whom. He appeared to eye Avery with caution when it came to her. Almost like he up and expected Jackson to pummel him for simply looking at her the wrong way.

But she and Avery made no such familial claims to each other. His protectiveness was more that of a personal nature. Like she belonged totally to him. His. Neanderthal maybe? But not unwarranted or unwanted. It was earned. She even heard the echoes of that instagramed sentiment. "Mine," his eyes screamed it along with his voice in her head. The look was clear… Friend-zoned for now. Never siblings, real, imagined or metaphorical.

They butted heads constantly in those early days. Both stubborn to a fault. Underpinning that however, was a deep respect for each other's abilities. Over time and cases they became so attuned to the others way of thinking, it was as if they were work spouses. And all marriages, even those not strictly in the legal sense of joined together in holy matrimony, have moments where one partner becomes a caretaker. He assumed that role for her. One of them.

Amazingly, he was a nurturer. Independent. Brought up in a single-parent household, taught the complexities of womanhood. So, a womanist to boot. Strong women were an especially solid turn-on for him. Not the Kry-baby, vapid, copied, faked feminist constantly seeking validation, but honest to goodness strength and having the courage of one's convictions, even in the face of overwhelming pressure. Physical stature aside, someone with a Big Personality. His words, his actions and his thought processes told her all she needed to know.

Everything precious he learned from women – survival he learned from women, resilience he learned from women, strength he learned from women… vulnerability, acceptance, self-love, humility, passion, patience – all that made him this extraordinary being, he learned from women.

Nature and temperament aside, Avery was also The Boss – obviously not either of the Bruces, Banner or Springsteen… okay, definitely not the former, that was The Hulk... although... she had seen enough of him to know that Hulk would pass – but also a vital cog in getting the team machine to function optimally. His pep talks he peppered with platitudes. They worked for him.

"There's no 'I' in Team."

"B-Team is A-Team."

"We're all ride or die."

"Whatever happens, we got each other's backs. Remember that."

"Team work makes the dream work."

He was no bad boy, bad boy, but whatcha gonna do, when he came for you... with his motivational TEDtalks? Why TEDlisten, of course.

And to cap it off was this little gem that he'd picked up from a favored duo on a beloved television comedy series. Considering that the sitcom centered on a motley crew of police officers, he felt it fitting to borrow from them, without any guilt. Courtesy of the Peralta/Boyle Bromance, "This is us... not the TV show. We are your friends... not the movie. You gotta have faith... not the song…"

Sometimes, walkin' in there, she needed subtitles...

It was quite by chance that she'd seen as much of Avery as she had. A drunk suspect being interrogated had hurled all over him and he'd needed to suit up in a hurry after.

Chief Bailey had chastised him. "You do not change clothes in front of everyone like animals or interns. Nobody wants to see all that."

"Apparently Kepner does." Karev had not been wrong. How could anyone resist ogling?

"What? Err, no. No, I don't." Not that she would admit it. Even with Travelling Pants he could very easily pass for an artist's nude model.

"How else will I get to show off my Tramp Stamp otherwise, right Kepner?" he joked, in a down to earth manner, showing that he didn't take himself so seriously that he couldn't find humor in being a tad self-deprecating.

"Well you're not doing it right then. It needs to be where your G-string peeks out your pants when you bend over."

"You mean my banana hammock?"

"Testicular fortitude, eh?" She giggled at the image his imagination presented to her of him in his itty bitty teeny weeny yellow Borat-like bikini. "Oh and is that what your tattoo says? Mr. Banana Hammock?"

"Nope," he joined in the laughter. But then seemed to get serious... well semi, err, serious. "It says, 'Screw Beautiful, I'm Brilliant.' Actually, if you wanna appease me, compliment my brain," he winked at her.

"Now, that's a mouthful." It really impressed her, how little value he placed on physical beauty standards. Particularly his own. What motivated him was character and she knew that it bummed him out to be judged as simple eye-candy.

"And that's why I hammock and not string."

They were never official, but there existed an underlying, unspoken understanding. The priority, of course, capturing GRed John. After… well that was a conversation for then.

Reed and Charles, on the other hand, kindled a sexual liaison off the bat. Until the 'No Fraternization Policy' had Reed making the tough call of ending it, for her career's sake. It's not like Charlie was prepared to put a ring on it then or have the team splintered because of it.

Alex, was career law enforcement through and through. So, his hook-ups tended to be simply that. Sex. With a surprising soft spot – or rather hard-on – for the career, high-class escort. Who he inevitably turned into a career snitch for the SBI.

The team had thus evolved into five individuals who were close partners and good friends. But no more. At least on paper.

* * *

In her quest for IPJ, she uncovered his ties to the fraternity of law and untrusting of those in the highest echelons of government, she'd perpetrated a ruse on Chief Bailey. But Bailey had been clean, a step ahead and fearful for the safety of her own family. Which had led to faking her death and a non-sanctioned witness protection. Also a new SBI Director, Richard Webber, was brought into play. Bailey became key in the IPJ apprehension task force. Mind you, she needed major convincing to unglue herself from her new life, but the prospect of not having to look over her shoulder all the time, held much appeal. As did the idea of finding her Ben.

It all started innocently enough with a run of the mill murder case during which Reed hunted her down for a gown fitting.

Jackson was quite amused. "Now is that a farm tradition?" he wondered aloud.

She wasn't impressed.

And entering the office of his he'd been upgraded to, not long after, he caught her amidst fluffy, cotton-candy taffeta. "Jeez, Avery. You mind knocking?" she rebuked him.

"Oh... wow!" He appeared dumbstruck for a moment. Almost speechless. "Well, it  _is_  my office," he continued, "but, oh brother, you look... like a train-wreck. But I can see where it's going."

"Reed must die."

"No, no, wait. It's nice. Good. Beautiful even."

"Too little too late, Avery."

"You look like a princess. Like an angry-looking princess. Someone stole your tiara," he nodded to himself. This was him seeing where it was going. "Looks good. Very feminine."

"Somebody sedate me."

Oh right, the transition from 'Murder, She Wrote' to 'My Best Friend's Wedding' was confusing, huh? She'd forgotten to mention it. Much to the chagrin of a green-eyed Charles Percy, Reed had not dragged her feet. She'd moved on and was engaged to be married. The lucky fella also belonging to the law enforcement family. Specifically, one FBI agent. Finn Dandridge.

Group feelings about Dandridge were ambivalent. They covered the spectrum from outright suspicion to complete faith, with all jealousy and suspicion in between. Two guesses as to which two reserved the benefit of their doubt? So, how this played out was finding out that the latest homicide fatality was related to ex-chief Miranda Bailey. A cousin of sorts. He'd been sending her money. Now normally this wouldn't have raised any flags but for the fact that the victim was tortured. This alerted her to the very real possibility that GRed John was behind it all and that he was hunting Bailey. Fearing for her safety, Bailey had made the call to arise from the dead and turn herself in, thus leading them to strategically co-ordinate a pre-sting operation. Essentially, a fact finding mission: Who was GRed John's mole in the SBI?

She planned an elaborate canary trap. Which was, for all intents and purposes, a means of exposing an information leak. The way this worked was that say different versions of a sensitive document were handed to each of several suspects and then seeing which version got leaked. The technique – usually referred to as a Barium Meal Test in espionage circles – had been used by intelligence agencies for many years.

Her method of the ingenious scheme entailed that each of the suspects believed that Bailey was in a different room at The Archfield Hotel. Cameras were installed in the five individual rooms, one on each floor... two to six. Whichever room the assassin, sent by GRed John, entered, would tell them which suspect was the mole.

It went off like clockwork. But with one unintended consequence. The assassin, later identified by sifting through her various aliases, as one Amelia Shepherd, was caught on camera inside room 605. The room designated to current SBI Director, Richard Webber. As Shepherd readied her kill tools, which included a rope and weights, Percy and Karev busted in from the main entrance. Ruling out surrender, this left only one other escape route for the would-be assassin. She raced the short distance out the glass door, leapt atop the balcony railing and finished off with a graceful swan-dive head first into the gravel courtyard below, breaking her neck and killing herself instantly.

What  _was_  this scary charisma that GRed John possessed? His minions willingly surrendered their freedom for him and were eagerly prepared to give up their lives too if it meant protecting his identity. This was a life or death influence no serial killer should ever have control of. No person should, for that matter. It was unfathomable to her and even more so to think of the new SBI Director as having that kinda power.

With Webber revealed to the team, they were now one step ahead of GRed John. The follow-up was, hopefully, luring him out and this was accomplished by inviting the new Chief out to a coffee shop at the mall under the pretext of meeting the old Chief to discuss the semantics of her turning herself in.

"Bailey's not coming, is she?" Webber appeared outwardly calm, but from the twitching of his right eye she guessed that he was more than a smidge irritated.

"She'll be here." She stalled with this outright lie. It was time to prod and poke. Subtle inquisition?

"Just who exactly is trying to kill her anyhow?"

"Well, it's hard to say. Who would be your guess?"

"I run the department, Kepner, I don't analyze and investigate case files."

"You have no idea at all?"

"None. You tell me."

"GRed John, of course. I believe he has a friend inside the SBI. I believe he has friends all over the state. Powerful friends."

"C'mon..." he scoffed. "You can't be serious!"

"I'm serious."

"I beg you, Kepner, seek help."

"I sound crazy, don't I? Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not."

"No. You don't sound crazy. You just sound like someone who's pushed herself too hard, reached the end of her rope. Take a break. Consult a therapist, maybe? I know an excellent..."

"Rope... the rope... Guys…" Gazing through Webber as though he were invisible – which actually chain-reactioned it, causing him to exasperatedly disappear himself, all the while muttering something about her being a bad driver anyway – she addressed Percy and Karev via her wire, analyzing a vital component of the crime scene, which they'd missed. "The assassin... she needed the rope to climb over the balcony to get to the room below. She was targeting room 505!"

Meanwhile, back at the ranch… Reed, FBI beau in tow, was off to relieve Jackson from his Bailey protection shift. And Jackson was not answering his phone. What the H E double hockey sticks was going on?! "Language!" he would humorously admonish her, if he damn well bothered to pick up his bloody calls!

"Hey April, hang on a sec..."

"Jackson... finally! Jackson please don't put me on hold! For the love of..."

"Relax. Calm down."

"Calm down! What were you doing?! What was the plan?!"

"There was no plan. You think I would plan to ruin your sting?"

"No, that doesn't seem like you. You wouldn't do that. So why didn't you answer then?"

"I just had to let Reed and Finn in. What's up?"

"Oh my God. No. Jackson, listen to me. It's not Webber, it's Finn!"

"April, what? I missed that..."

"Dandridge! GRed John's man is Dandridge!" So much noise. "Alex and Charles are on their way to you, Jackson. Jackson… Jackson?" Then her heart stopped at hearing gunshots. "Jackson... Jackson! No, no, no... Avery, you damn well better be okay! Jackson... please, please. Answer me... please."

"... Dandridge is dead. I'm wounded but I'm okay."

"You gonna be alright?" she whispered, on the verge of sobbing with relief.

"I think so. Flesh wound. Arm. And I was wearing a vest. Maybe your timing cuda been better, huh Machine?"

"Avery..." she snorted out a relieved laugh. Things couldn't be that bad if he was up to cracking jokes. "Jackson, listen to me. Can you get to Finn's phone?"

There was a momentary lull before, "I got it," he responded.

"Great. Press redial and tell whoever answers that Dandridge is dead."

Without hanging up, Jackson left off the call to carry out her instruction. She was able to make out distant sounds in the background, then one nearer as a ringing in the vicinity sounded in tandem with the faint echo from her phone.

Her attention was split but she focused on the gentleman reading a newspaper, seated about two tables away from her, as he answered his mobile. "Hey... That's too bad. Never mind. You win some, you lose some, I guess," she overheard him reply before he hung up.

"April? Kepner, you there?"

"Yes. What happened, Jackson?"

"A man answered. Said 'Never mind. Win some, lose some.' Is he...?"

"I'll call you back."

* * *

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah. Who were you just speaking to?" Forget good manners, she needed answers. At last she would have them from the source: the murdering psychopath (sociopath?) himself, GRed John.

Having picked up a little something along her journey with the SBI, coupled with a shit-ton of research on criminal profiling, courtesy of renowned specialist Dr. Ramani Durvasula, a PhD Clinical Psychologist, she'd learned that the key difference between a psychopath and a sociopath was that the former was born while the latter was made.

One rule of thumb to remember right off the bat, Dr. Ramani had written, was that every psychopath was narcissistic but not every narcissist was psychopathic.

So, both psychopaths and sociopaths were narcissists. Lacking empathy. Grandiose. Entitled. Arrogant. Constantly seeking validation. Superficially charming beautiful façades with not a lot behind them. Hypersensitive to criticism – could dole it out but couldn't take it. And they felt no guilt or shame. Their moral compasses were set to 'No remorse'.

Narcissists, Psychopaths and Sociopaths also made great chameleons. Able to change any situation to get what they wanted, they viewed the world as an instrument to fulfil their desires.

A narcissistic relationship, in essence, was like looking into a mirror and having nothing looking back.

Now, aside from not knowing whether GRed John was a nature or nurture narcissist – psycho or socio – the profile encapsulated everything that he was.

This  _was_  GRed John.

"Why is that your business?"

"Don't play with me."

"Ma'am, I donno what your issues are, but you're making me very uncomfortable."

He was so dead-pan that it gave her momentary pause. "Were you not just speaking to Jackson Avery?"

"To who?"

"Who are you? What's your name?" She had to remind herself that he was a master manipulator. Besides, she didn't believe in coincidence, and in this scenario any other outcome was impossible. And to top it all off, she had a good bullshit detector.

"Do I need to call security?" He waited a beat. "I'm just messin' with you. You know who I am."

"Tell me anyhow."

"I have many names. Some people call me Red John or GRed John. Others, Icepick Killer. Lobotomizer. Even Icepick John. You can call me Riggs if you like. You know, like those structures big oil companies build to drill for oil? Riggs. Anyhoo, it's great to meet you face to face... so to speak." Finally, they were getting somewhere.

"How do I know you are who you say you are?"

"That's a deep question. How does anyone really know who anyone is? Who are you? A machine..."

"What do you want?"

"When Dandridge told me about your little trap I was so happy. The perfect opportunity to teach you one last lesson. But, no. You prevailed, for once. Brava. Sincerely, Brava. You know what? It's a good thing. It confirms what I've been thinking. It's time to quit."

"Last lesson? Quit...?"

"I always get to where I'm going by walking away from where I've been. So, no more killing, no more blood. Nah, been there, done that. I'm retiring. Get myself a new face, new identity. Start a new life. I've skills and resources that I can use to really make a positive change in this world for other people, you know. For children. I guess I've been pursuing my own dreams for so long that I just lost sight of what's truly important in this world. I think that happens to a lot of people, don't you?"

Not only was she being played but he was taunting her with it! Positive change for children... pursuing his own dreams...! Was the dude sarchotic – someone who was so sarcastic that people weren't sure whether they were joking or simply effing crazy? Either way, he was a pompous, psychotic, sick fuck!

"Am I supposed to laugh? Why you telling me all this?"

"Well. I think we have a connection that needs to be honored... I want to say goodbye. I'd even get a cake with your face on it if I could. I want to apologize for any pain I might have caused you and I wanna release you from this curse you've been under."

"I'm not under a curse."

"Doomed to endless, angry search for vengeance you will never have? I would call that a curse, wouldn't you?"

"I look at it more as a hobby. I will have that... vengeance."

"Vengeance. Pfft... On what? Look at me. I'm just a regular guy. Bet you thought I'd have horns, huh? Right? I'm not a monster. I'm not the devil. Just another human being. Flaws, vices, problems. Just like anybody else. Forget about me. I'm not worth ruining your life over."

"Wherever you go, you delusional freak, I will find you and I will kill you. And then, then I will forget about you."

"Tough guy. Okay, c'mon. Let's see what you can do, Keps."

"Put that gun away and I'll show you."

Hidden in his newspaper, he made sure she was aware that he was armed. Anyone looking for it, would have easily spotted that weapon of individual torment, concealed as it was. She wondered if he had a conceal carry permit...? but then he was a white dude with a real gun and not a young Black child with a toy, so...

"See how we sound, we sound like kids on a playground. Don't you see that I'm trying to do you a favor? Seeking revenge is a waste of your valuable time. Your life is precious, April. Get on with that precious life. Find yourself a man to love. Start a family."

He had to be freaking kidding! "When you're dead."

"Ohkay. I thought you might take that attitude. Oh well, I tried. Goodbye."

He stood up and got at least five steps away before she found her voice again. "Hey, you can't just walk away." The utter nerve! Who did he think he was?! He could have been gotten rid of like that... with a snap of the fingers. Kinda like writing off a replacement love interest on a silly, two-bit medical soap opera, who dared to upstage the spiteful, self-deified, self-identified lead, who in-turn ransomed the careers of the rest of her ensemble cast colleagues. This by punting her version self-praising feminism in a bid to make it acceptable, instead of the hollow attempt it was of trying to recoup lost popularity.

"I can't, huh? What can you do to stop me?" The title of his sex tape was probably Harry Potter and the Audacity of this Bitch.

"Wait... how do I know that you're really him?"

"Fair enough. Joe and Karen smelt clean, of the earth. Cold tar soap and lavender. Your sister Alice smelt of sweet body lotion and little Sammy... he smelt like sweat... and lemon. I expect it was some kind of kid's shampoo." Dropping that bombshell he turned to leave once more.

"Please, wait..." She stepped right up into his personal space. And while he gazed at her with that mocking smirk, she pulled the trigger of the gun she had planted in her, ironically, Blackish Blood-Red Leather Jacket pocket. Twice. The bullets tore holes through the material of the lining and leather, then through him, piercing his flesh to lodge within his chest and abdomen.

* * *

"So Ms. Kepner… April, this doesn't look good. You wanna tell us your side of the story? See if we can straighten it out?"

The interrogation was expected. She  _did_  kill a man. "Well it's a long story, but... the man I shot was GRed John." She was kinda numb though, but with no feeling of peace. Yet. Perhaps the full import had not sunk in up to then.

"So you acknowledge that you did that? You killed him?"

The two detectives, she assumed hailed from Seattle PD, seemed to have their technique down pat, but they were no SBI.

"Yes, I did. Can't hardly deny it, now can I? Five hundred witnesses. He was the Ice Pick Killer... GRed John."

"GRed John... the famous serial killer GRed John? That GRed John?" Their questioning made it seem as if they were mollifying a child. Some respect here please!

"Yes. He killed my son, my parents and sister. He killed my family."

"So what you did in your mind, it was like a righteous kill?"

"Yes." Not a single doubt.

"How did you know it was him?"

They were ping-ponging the interview, and although she was on the other side of the table, she lobbed the answers back quite efficiently. Kept the ball in play with her succinct, but truthful replies. "He told me he was."

"And you believed him?"

"He knew things about my family that only GRed John would know."

"What was that?"

"How they smelt on the night that he killed them."

Out loud this all actually sounded questionable, but then truth was stranger than fiction.

"Okay. So did anyone else hear him say this to you?"

"No."

"So you can only assert that he said it, you can't prove it?" Now they were getting into the nitty gritty. Tryna poke holes in her argument.

"No, I can't. But the gun he's carrying certainly backs me up doesn't it? And if you check his cellphone you'll see that at 1.15 pm he received a call from an FBI Agent, Finn Dandridge, who is, or rather was, a proven accomplice of GRed John."

"You taking any kind of medication, April?"

"No. What's that got to do with anything?"

"Here's the thing... that's a great story you tell. If it was true you could probably add for manslaughter, take a five year hit tops..."

"It  _is_  true."

"Yeah. But the problem is, April, that man you killed...? his name is Nathan Riggs. A well-respected local businessman, a devoted husband and father with no criminal record."

"No... No that's incorrect."

"Wait, lemme finish. His wife is equally well regarded, an ex-army veteran, Dr. Megan Hunt. They've been married just shy of a year and have recently adopted a young refugee boy. Pillars of the community. Now we've already looked at his cellphone. I got the details right here. He logged zero calls from this Dandridge. And, guess what else? He didn't have a gun on him."

"No gun?"

"No gun. So you see how this doesn't look good. Looks like you're telling a pack of lies or you went crazy and you killed an innocent man."

* * *

Okay, well this put a whole new spin on things. But thank God for the team, even benched as they were. Webber was not thrilled at being considered a suspect who they'd then tried to get a confession from, so handing over her case to SPD, he explained, was their just desserts. This also circumvented the small matter of conflict of interest. It would look extremely fishy for them to investigate one of their own, contracted though she was, and most especially if she was let-off. Besides which, though not even one team member would compromise their integrity, to the world it would look like they were above the law, fostering an environment of non-accountability. She wouldn't do that to them.

Jackson was injured, forced into a mandatory hospital stay and Reed, well she was still shell-shocked at having to put down her fiancé like a rabid dog.

As for herself, she was held in remand pending trial until motivated to earn her bail by needing to solve the case of the missing gun and mobile call logs. Which SPD was not even bothered to believe existed.

If she wasn't grateful for her carnival upbringing before, this right here cinched the deal. It was how she was able to hustle some poker sharks in lock-up and voilà, make bail. When she found herself in times of trouble, Carnie training came to her, speaking words of wisdom, Poker-face, P—P—P—Poker-face...

She chose her marks carefully. Reputation was everything in the joint and they would ensure that the purse, in cold hard cash, got to where it needed to go.

"I underestimated you," imprisoned Mafia goon reflected as the winning hand hit the table.

"Yeah, well, maybe next time you will estimate me," she smart-assed.

"There will  _be_  no next time. But I  _can_  arrange a game. What size cement shoes?"

Yeah, okay. Loud and clear. Message received. For the immediate future, however, she was able to bust Jackson from his 'prison' – not first without a doctor's lecture and arm sling though – and together with the Hardy Boys and one psychologically damaged Nancy Drew got to investigating Nathan Riggs perfect life. Unofficially.

While Jackson gave her quite a bit of leeway during investigations, to the point of not even censoring the runaway train that was her bizarro process, he did, simply by his very presence, reign her in. Not so with Reed. Paired together Reed egged her on. She suspected that Reed enjoyed tremendously the mischief they got up to and even more so the shock and confusion that followed from her unorthodox crime solving methods. Case in point...

"C'mon Reed, I promised Jackson we wouldn't do anything stupid." This after they'd slipped unseen into the suspects home, amidst the mourners. Subsequent to an initial upfront visit, of course. They'd cleverly hidden themselves, patiently waiting on everyone to leave, and were now basically staking out the bereaved widow until the misdirection she'd gotten Reed to serve kicked in.

That woman was squirrely. She appeared to be the perfectly devastated spouse who knew everything about her man, but there was something off about her perfection.

"Why would you lie to your boyfriend like that?" And that was another thing. Reed would not let up on pushing her and Jackson together. She claimed to be a forever Japril shipper. Called them 'Goals'. Sometimes they were AppleJacks, like the sugary cereal. But that was typically whenever she caught Jackson bumming food off of her. Which was like all... the... time. Leftovers, mostly. In Tupperware. Just add hot sauce. Which, unsurprisingly, always found its way into his pocket, only to appear when food did.

Still... they  _were_  goals. Friendship goals. But with a little something-something brewing.

In quite the verbose fashion and coming from Reed of all people, she'd hit them with effusive praise. It was what a toast at their wedding would sound like, but for now it would not be too far off the mark to call it an 'Ode to Japril'. She'd said, "These two... Jackson and April... trust, respect, friendship, responsibility, honor, dignity, faith, truth, diligence, grit, resilience, and humor. A pair of people worth championing... tuning in for and being dedicated to."

As a betting person, Reed claimed, that her money was on them.

Her gamble paid off. Big time. Subtle hinting to the perfect wife, when they'd first interrupted the wake, that her so-called ideal mate was in fact keeping things from her – by way of planting an additional, unrecognizable key on the deceased's key-fob – led to the unexpected windfall of saving a young woman's life. And implicating both of the Riggs-Hunt duo in at least one count of kidnapping and attempted murder.

Of the four of them it was hard to say whose expression was the most startled when Reed and she dramatically revealed themselves.

Was it Hunt, her niceness cover blown, as she unlocked a hidden basement room where she proceeded to verbally then physically berate a young woman who looked to have been previously tortured and who was presently handcuffed to a bed... while at the same time attempting to find the lock that belonged to the unidentifiable key?

Was it young Heather Brooks, a teenager from the community who'd been missing for weeks, kidnapped and presumed dead... having given up hope of rescue and stunned that it had actually arrived?

Was it Reed, who believed and supported her regarding Nathan Riggs being GRed John... but surprised nonetheless to discover a live victim?

Or was it herself, who after having heard about how Riggs was instrumental in organizing search parties to locate the missing girl, didn't put it together. That information settling on the periphery of her mind... not actually factoring it in as being another of Riggs hidden secrets?

And alright, but for the short time that Webber was GRed John suspect Número Uno, or more accurately one of cuatro – no, no it was one of cinco – suspects,  _she_  thought they got along just fine. Until she became privy to a conversation outside the courtroom where her case was about to be heard. Going against professional advice, she'd opted to defend herself.

"Listen, this girl in the basement changes the game. We can't appear vindictive. Kepner has an enormous amount of public sympathy right now." Just exactly on  _whose_  side was Webber?

"Well the DA is telling me to go full speed at her. Vigilante justice just can't go unpunished regardless what the sympathetic circumstances might be." Well, Assistant District Attorney Yang  _had_  been one of the GRed John Five suspects, so...

"Oh no, absolutely. Firm line drawn under this episode is best for the Bureau, best for all concerned. I'm just saying, no death penalty, right?" Concern, Webber? But for whom.

"Yeah, it's out now. But we are confident first degree murder will stand up. Facts don't allow for any other verdict."

This reaffirmed her decision. Only now her resolve was wiping the floor with them.

"Ms. Yang... closing arguments?"

"Yes, thank you, Your Honor." Turning to her right Yang began her summation to the jury. "Now, Ms. Kepner is going to stand up here in a moment and she's going to tell you that Nathan Riggs was the Icepick Killer, GRed John. The fact is she has no proof of that. None whatsoever. Now, was Nathan Riggs a nice man? No, obviously not. But was he a serial killer? Do we have any proof that he ever killed anyone, anyone at all? No, we don't. The only murder that we know of, the only murder that is an attested fact is the murder committed by this woman here, April Kepner. A murder committed out of misguided lust for personal vengeance."

The case was not clear open and shut. The evidence and witness testimonies were inconclusive. Which meant that everything, her fate, rode on final summations. An appeal to a jury of her peers. But, as with life, fiction and reality, the law too was rife with competing narratives, and the burden of interpretation was ultimately on the listener and his or her subjectively arrived-at sense of the truth.

"Ms. Kepner, you're up."

"The prosecutor says that Nathan Riggs wasn't GRed John... or even another of his names, Icepick John. Well... Riggs told me himself that he was GRed John. But I can't prove that. The forensic evidence is inconclusive. His wife, Megan Hunt, refuses to talk to anyone. She refuses to speak at all, so she's no use to us. What about Riggs records? Surely, there must be some clues there? No. On paper this man seems to appear out of nowhere five years ago. Before that? Nothing. Why? Because Nathan Riggs is an invented identity. A mask. I'm not guilty of killing Nathan Riggs because Nathan Riggs never existed. There is no Nathan Riggs. There is only GRed John. GRed John started killing people six years ago. It's hard to put an exact number on how many people he's killed, but it's somewhere around twenty-eight. Nearly all women. Late at night, in their homes. He wakes them first because he likes to see the fear in their eyes. He likes to hear them beg for mercy as he cuts them open. He did that to my parents, my sister and my little boy... my father and son numbering among his few male victims. So, I've been looking for him ever since. Looking for personal vengeance. I believe that's my right. I have the right to kill the man that killed my family. I don't say I shouldn't be punished for doing what I did. I feel I had no choice. What would you do?"

* * *

She was the kissing bandit. A femme fatale.

She grabbed his face, murmuring, "Please—please," before devouring his mouth, without waiting for a response. She pulled back for a second, tried to regain her breath along with a sliver of control before she realized that she didn't need to breathe and who the heck wanted control, and dove right back in. She caught the corner of his mouth and waited for him to come in to fix it. He didn't disappoint, but took the circuitous route... tender eyelid kisses and nose bops before finally sealing the deal. The world stopped – or was it something else, everything felt off-kilter – and they gazed longingly into each other's eyes, knowing they shouldn't but leaning in nevertheless, kissing once more.

Releasing choppy breaths, they rested their foreheads against each other's, stunned. It seemed unreal but they couldn't resist. With a desperate pant, her hands, of their own accord, followed a path to his upper arms, massaging his muscles before moving further up, cupping and softly caressing both his non-ass cheeks. She pulled him down for another round. His groan of surrender made it clear where he stood on the issue... nowhere near done, but so done in by her. Perhaps now was not the right time, but this was their moment. What started out as soft and uncertain – well not this, today... today started off with a bang… not literally, c'mon! – quickly escalated. They looked, then leapt... straight into a passionate embrace.

"I shouldn't... it's taking advantage."

"Taking advantage... what? I kissed you."

"Yeah, but I kissed you back."

"Yeah, but then I unbuttoned your shirt."

"Yeah, and then I... pulled up that skirt."

"Yeah, but then I kissed your neck."

"Yeah. And then I took off your shirt."

"And I... but then I... unbuckled your belt."

"And then I slid my hand up your back."

"I wrapped my arms around your neck."

"And then I..."

"Then you...?"

"Then I..."

Wowzer. So Déjà vu-ish.

A known quote by Mark Twain: "Love is the irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired."

Which, c'mon, was a load of bull crap. Complete garbage. Way to water down the word and reduce it to its most common denominator, that of simple physicality. Counterproductive in every way.

But if one were to use that definition for lust...? she could see and subsequently melt to be so irresistibly desired.

" _... I can't fight this feeling any longer, and yet I'm still afraid to let it flow. What started out as friendship has grown stronger, I only wish I had the strength to let it show... I..."_

"So... what now?"

"Huh... what? Err... what's going on?"

"Man, you're really out of it. Where did you go to just then?"

"No—No-where. Just listening to REO Speedwagon. Old school, hey?" she diverted. She was preoccupied by the wholly inappropriate daydream and explained away her distraction with a comment on his musical choice, only realizing after how accurately the lyrics mirrored her emotions. "Why do you ask? What did we, err, I mean I, do?" she gazed wide-eyed at him, biting her lower lip, mortified – they were in his car, for fucks sake – wondering if perhaps she could have groaned out loud in arousal?

But Dang! That was some wide-awake wet-dream! And that verbal undressing?! She did not know she had it in her... the talkin' dirty... even if it was just a creation of her fevered mind. She was like a sex vampire.

Did they really not hook-up in the courtroom bathroom after she was handed that 'Not Guilty' verdict? It all seemed... so real... but yet surreal at the same time. And man those kisses... so hot! She was not an exhibitionist by nature, but this once she would have thrown caution to the wind. Locked bathroom ... public venue ... surround sound verbal foreplay ... titillating thirty-four million YouTube viewers...? She would have been up for any and all of that.

"Nothing." His attention veered away from the road for the second it took to give her one of his frowny faces. "You're being very weird right now."

More like evasive. She considered herself lucky that  _he_  wasn't a mentalist, but feeling the effects her imagination had on her physically, she had to wonder if he was able to deduce the dirty little path her mind had wandered down. "Hah... I'm just being me, happy to be free."

"You do look kinda flushed, though... you okay? And now you're blushing... what...?"

"Premature menopause. I have hot flashes." She had to distract him with a bit of absurdity. And judging by his amused snort and the grin pulling at his lips, the distraction worked. "Now what did you wanna know again? Where to now, you asked, right? Well tea would sure hit the spot." Maybe that would help cool her down some. Stupid hormones.

"No, I meant what now? You've done what you set out to do. You got your vengeance. Do you feel different? Feel better?"

"Hmm... Say do you ever feel bad about not feeling bad about something you should feel bad about?"

"Huh...? what? I'm confused."

"To answer your question, No. No, I don't feel better. I feel guilty."

"Guilty? But why?"

"For deceiving the jury. I mean, I had no choice. Going to prison for murder would have been a victory for GRed John."

"I know I sound like a broken record, but what are you talking about? GRed John's dead... IPJ is dead."

"Nathan Riggs is dead. He was an evil man but he wasn't the Icepick Killer. IPJ... GRed John is still alive."

The look he gave her was one of extreme doubt and his counter arguments to her explanations were sound and unemotional. Unlike the absolute trust he had had in her abilities – after her having proved that his belief in her was not misplaced – this time was different. He was laboring under the misconception that her emotions had skewered her rationality. Added to that, she glimpsed in his expression a quickly suppressed hint of disappointment. But she was equally disappointed... at this perceived lack of faith in her.

"You're seeing more than what's actually there. You have a tendency to do that. Not every murder is a secret inside of a secret inside of a secret. There's no murder Turducken and there's not always a hidden pattern," he tried to reason.

"Not always, but sometimes there is." She was just as resolute in her argument.

"Mhhhhhmm."

"The truth hurts, I know. It's biologically based actually. Our brains process sound faster than they do light but light moves faster than sound so our brains are constantly shifting reality so the world syncs up." She tried approaching it from a pseudo-scientific but ultimately philosophical point of view.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"This. Only when someone is standing 30 yards away do we see and hear the world exactly as it is. That's when your brain, sound and light are all in perfect harmony."

"So?"

"The rest of the time we're living in a world of lies. Lies are what make the world make sense. Ergo, the truth hurts."

He didn't appear impressed with this tangential logic. She had a strong suspicion that once she'd become part of the team, he'd distanced himself from pursuing anything romantic with her so as not to be  _that_  guy, the one who takes advantage of a woman's emotional vulnerability. But he also wasn't the guy who  _doesn't_  do it so as to rack up those good guy points, waiting for just the right moment to cash in his friend chips for something more.

It was clear to her that their friendship had developed organically, despite themselves and the reasons underpinning their rocky beginning. So the frustration she sensed from him now, tinged with a sliver of disappointment, was mostly about her apparent never-ending vendetta. After the verdict, she'd detected a hopefulness at the prospect of them moving forward by putting GRed John in their review mirror, but that had been supplanted by his exasperation with her – accompanied by quite the morose expression, or was that just his face? – at what seemed to be pure stubbornness on her part.

She understood where he was coming from. But, her priority still had to be catching GRed John. And, somehow, she had to open his eyes to the possibility of his being wrong, even as he confronted the fact that she'd strayed into the grey area of vigilante justice. It was something he'd glossed over. Compartmentalized, really.

Perhaps he'd assumed that, with SBI involvement in general and his in particular, that GRed John would be taken in alive. Probably kicking and screaming... maybe missing a few limbs... but alive nonetheless. What he'd ignored, were exigent circumstances and the heat and fury of her vengeance.

Or, it could be that he'd made peace with her quest for justice after seeing the carnage that GRed John had wrought, not only to her life but to numerous others.

But the hitch in his stride could be Nathan Riggs, and the circumstances that resulted in him being summarily executed. Not a pre-meditated act and with no malice aforethought, but it did bring into question the irreversible consequences of street justice, especially if guilt was established based on flimsy evidence. Collateral damage was not a phrase that sat well with him.

So, yes, she'd broken the law... the law he was sworn to uphold.

* * *

"Trust your instincts, Avery. Have some fire. Be unstoppable, be a force of nature."

"Okay, so... we need to retrace her steps and..."

"Eh... you're just going through the motions. Plodding methodically like a beat cop."

"Yeah, it's called police work."

Trying to encourage, "You've got to push the narrative arc, my dude. Why not try a fresh approach?"

"My dude?" she watched him scratch his head as he whispered the pop culture endearment to himself before shaking his head and moving on. "Like what, tarot cards?"

"Go directly to the one that feels right." Standing in front of a white-board of possibilities, she was prodding his sixth sense.

"These are all viable suspects. Seattle PD did their job well."

"So, you're just going to do the same job over again? Take a close look at these guys... use your intuition. Which one is guilty?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, come on. You've been a cop for a long time. What you don't know is how much you know without knowing you know it. Take a guess and run with it. The rest is just profiling blather. Forget about that. Go with your gut."

It was business as usual. That is if your usual business was corralling evil. Except for Jackson, who patently doubted her about this, she did not let on to anyone else her belief that GRed John was still in, well... business? Of course this did not mean that she let up on investigating on her own time, that was still very much a go. But for now, GRed John was either lying low, retired or had altered his standard operating procedure. Any which way, she would eventually get him. For real. This was also why any murders following a pattern caught her immediate attention.

Thus began the hunt for the Silverdale Killer. Serial killings of young women found bound and murdered. Their throats slit, dumped in random locations, with the seemingly ritualistic pattern of having objects found at the scene placed over their eyes, but with no signs of them having been sexually assaulted. At least six victims and eight possible suspects according to Seattle Police Department. She left the numbers game to the two-person teams, divided alphabetically. Adamson/Avery and Karev/Percy. Whether gut or grunt work, she left them to it, preferring to get her own feel of those surrounding the case. She'd learnt to be wary of and on the lookout for those attention seekers.

Enter stage left, one Matthew Taylor, an investigative crime reporter and blogger. Taylor had taken a personal interest in the case, his knowledge so extensive and research so thorough, one could almost call it obsessive. She decided to make him her starting point. He was the expert on all things SDK, so picking his brain over coffee wasn't really unusual. A bit unorthodox maybe, considering that she was an expert too, but since when did she conform to the norm? And while there was an overlap, their fields of expertise differed significantly.

"Thanks for meeting with me Mr. Taylor."

"Of course. Anything I can do to help with the investigation. And it's Matthew, please."

"So Matthew, what's your deal? You've devoted your life to the capture of a serial killer. That's either very saintly or very weird." Hello pot, kettle says hi.

"That's an odd notion coming from you. I know about you Ms. Kepner... April..." Yep, her reputation as the serial-killer killer preceded her.

"Aah, I thought you might. GRed John  _did_  kill my family. What is it that gives  _you_  cause? What did Stephanie Edwards mean to  _you_?"

"Well I didn't know her, I never spoke to her really. I just saw her at the bus-stop a couple of times. But, it's like we had a connection. Like maybe in another life both our significant others jilted us at the altar, to run away together? I donno... And her death was such a brutal act, so close to home that it had a visceral impact on me that I couldn't shake. I don't know why. I mean people search for reason or meaning behind events in their lives when more often than not there is none."

"Interesting philosophy."

"Oh yes. Congratulations by the way."

"Thank you. Err... for what?"

"You killed GRed John." Right... how could she forget  _that_? He seemed shocked.

"Oh, that. Yes."

"What was that like?"

"Yeah... not as satisfying as you might think. You know something occurred to me as I was reading your website..."

"Yes...?"

"The people that post comments on the site... have you considered that one of them may be The Silverdale Killer?"

"It is a possibility, all be it a rather obvious one. You see the Silverdale Killer is not like other serial killers. He doesn't kill for the same reasons. He commits murder solely for the immediate pleasure that he takes in the act. The media ... other peoples reactions ... that's irrelevant to him."

"A purist."

"Exactly. Consider the way he murders his victims. He slits their throats slowly, carefully, so that he can watch the life drain out of their eyes. I apologize if I'm making you uncomfortable."

"Oh, no worries. It's in my wheelhouse."

"This killer has come to consume me."

Yeah, take a number, buddy. He was right though, so truer words were never spoken. It was the nature of the beast. The Monster. The Serial Killer.

The team had their own suspects that they were probing, but none of those jumped out at her. Now Taylor, on the other hand, he was interesting. So she met up with him for a follow-up interview. Ostensibly to pick his brain. This time at his home-cum-office. His place reminded her of those TV show hoarder apartments, the small area choc-full of his investigative research. Unlike those collectors however, no junk. Everything was freakishly neat. Collated, stapled, highlighted, slotted into tabbed, color-coded binders and stacked. And to top it all off was the immaculately arranged killer board. Perfectly square-shaped pictures of the victims neatly taped and outlined in black felt, arrows leading from each to the pyramid top, which was crowned by the largest, flawlessly aligned and equally measured square, in the midst of which was drawn three bold, black, question marks. Or rather, she should use its other name... interrogation points. Much more appropriate.

Familiar with the names, she contemplated them as she gazed at their pictures. They were random. Strangers. Differing physical attributes, divergent race, ethnicities and religions. Stephanie Edwards, Leah Murphy, Josephine Wilson, Dahlia Qadri, Taryn Helm and Samantha Bello. No commonality amongst them, except for each having being slaughtered, in an almost ritualistic fashion, by a deranged monster.

"The more I think about it the more I'm starting to think that your analysis of SDK may be wrong," she got down to it, once she'd been settled with her beverage of choice. Yes, it was tea and no it wasn't a leftover carnie custom. Besides, one was not able to read tea leaves from a tea bag. What she  _was_  doing, was channeling her inner Angela Lansbury. Jessica Fletcher... Murder, she wrote...? Oh, bollocks! Forget about it. She was the original, old school whodunit crime sleuth extraordinaire.

"How so?" He appeared a bit put out by her calling out.

"Well you said he's a purist, a man who kills simply for the pleasure of it. I'm starting to think he's a deeply damaged man who kills out of a need for attention. Neglected as a child, I'd guess. What do you think, Matthew?"

"I think you couldn't be more wrong. Look, I know the Silverdale Killer better than anyone. As you yourself have said. I've spent over a year inhabiting his mind. This man is brilliant. He's a genius who has run circles around the police. He's killed at will, without repercussion. This is a man to be feared, not pitied."

Hmm. She thought the bystander doth protest too much. Her own intuition was setting off serious alarm bells.

**J-------------------------A**

 "Alright, what's going on? I feel like you're having a loud internal monologue and it's bothering me. Spill."

She had to let the gremlin run wild. "Taylor committed these murders. Out of hubris. He wants to create a mythology around the Silverdale Killer. That's why he started the website. He doesn't just want to kill, he wants people to be in awe of him."

Jackson gazed contemplatively at her and she wondered if he'd lost faith in her abilities after the Riggs debacle. That hurt. But he surprised her. "Okay... so?"

"So we arrest someone else for the killings. Someone pathetic and unworthy. Thus destroying his mythology with one fatal blow. Taylor will go out and kill again just to prove us wrong and we will be there waiting for him."

"Arrest somebody else...? Ohhhh... and evidence?"

"Ehh, you coppers and your evidence. You always let it confuse everything."

"April you never fail to... get me into trouble." But his tone was all exasperated fondness. She could live with that.

  **J-------------------------A**

 "Mr. Taylor... Matthew... we got him. We made an arrest." She popped in to give him the fake news. And to get a bead on his reaction. Jackson was in the car outside, ready for their stake-out.

"Yeah, I heard something about it on the news but I didn't believe it. Andrew DeLuca, huh? Never heard of the guy." Ole boy was really reigning himself in. Time to stick the smug bastard where it hurt... his vanity.

"Turns out we were both wrong about SDK. He's not a purist nor a man desperate for attention. He's just a sick, sexually deranged man that likes to take pictures of girls. A simple-minded pervert."

He sat on the new info for a while, between four to five hours at least. When he left, bag in tow, they were on him like white on rice. He led them directly to an abandoned warehouse. Cliché, right? But not really. He played them. They got him dead to rights in what, evidence would later confirm, was the kill room. But – and here was the rub – he was surrounded by a camera crew taping a news segment.

According to him, he'd been invited there to authenticate the crime scene, being as he was the expert. And as any investigator worth their salt would ask, how did the news crew know where to go?

Here's where he killed two birds with one stone. Anonymous phone call from a blocked number, caller identifying himself as SDK.

So, egg on the face of the Bureau with the Silverdale Killer still at large, and he not only getting away with murder but besting the authorities while doing so.

"I tried to tell you... you had the wrong man." He couldn't resist gloating. It was just the two of them at that point as Jackson was in the process of ushering out all the crime scene contaminants.

"You set this up. You knew we were following you." Curious, she opened his bag. All it contained was a sandwich. Everything else – rope, ties, gloves, cleaning materials – were already there and if his finger prints turned up, well his presence explained that. She'd underestimated his treachery and overestimated his need for immediate vainglorious gratification.

"I donno what you're talking about. But I have to admit I'm very hurt by all this. I mean, here I thought you were seeking my help, that we were kindred spirits, when all along you were just lying to me. You were using me. I'm not the one you want. That kind of duplicity, leading a double life...? I don't know how you do that."

  **J-------------------------A**

 "Kepner, wait up. You heard the higher-ups. The investigation has been handed over to the FBI. Our hands are tied."

"Yeah... maybe yours are. For once, Avery, don't be the voice of reason, be the voice of wrath."

"Noice," the Karev peanut gallery added his two cents.

This time she was the one annoyed with him. Jackson. And not in any doting, affectionate way. She would find a way to unmask SDK... show the world the murderer's huge ego – usually accompanied by tiny dick energy – and the big evil, camouflaged by his Mr. Rogers nice guy charade.

**J-------------------------A**

Pain in the butt Talk show. With just cause, it was not her favorite place to be. For Justice however, she would do what needed to be done, even if it meant muscling her way into an in-progress, live broadcast. The network was more than happy to oblige… to have not one but two serial killer experts. Even better if they had opposing viewpoints and best still for ratings if they verbally duked it out.

"No disrespect to the FBI or the SBI, but it's not a good sign when a case as complex and important as this one is shuttled from agency to agency. There's a lack of communication and consistency. There's pointless replication of effort. You see the same problem in the search for the Zodiac Killer..."

She cut in. "Matthew is exactly right. There are too many cooks in the kitchen. But I would also like to add that the Silverdale Killer is very likely someone who has attached themselves to the investigation somehow. Someone hiding in plain sight. Someone who'll be caught soon."

Take that, Matthew Taylor!

"What makes you think that the Silverdale Killer will be caught soon?" the news reporter asked her to clarify.

"Well, he's become wrapped up in his own mythology... drank his own Kool-Aid, so to speak."

"There's no evidence to suggest that!" She was getting to Taylor, if his interjection was any indication.

"You're right, Matthew. I have no evidence to back that, just a good sense of the man. SDK is a sad little person living in a fantasy world of power and prestige. It's only a matter of time before he makes a mistake."

"I couldn't disagree more! This man is smart, he is rational, he's brilliant, in fact." Pumping up his own... err, horn.

"Ehh... I respect your skills as a journalist and as a blogger, Matthew, but I do this for a living and I don't think you know or understand this man at all."

"That's absurd! I mean... that's just... that's... your opinion... and I... respect that."

  **J-------------------------A**

 "I know what you're doing. You think I'm stupid?" He confronted her, softly, when they had a short break for ads.

"Yes."

"You're not going to ruin this for me." Still cocky. Unafraid of self-recrimination. He believed he had her, and by extension SBI, by the balls.

"Tell us Matthew, will SDK kill again?" Journalist Barbie engaged Taylor first this time, as they returned to air.

"I hate to say this... but yes, I think this man will strike again. And I think that there will be many, many more victims."

"A dark prediction. What makes you think that?"

"Well, he's growing more bold and more confident every day. More sure of his abilities and his greatness. And why shouldn't he be? He's been able to evade detection so easily. He is too good to be caught."

"April, your thoughts?"

"It's funny, GRed John thought exactly the same thing."

"Heh," Taylor snorted, interrupting. "Somehow I don't think SDK will be quite as easy to kill as GRed John."

Having come to the realization that there was no way she would be able to bring him to justice, she goaded Matthew into comparing GRed John unfavorably to SDK. "You're very much mistaken," she whispered.

"GRed John was an accomplished killer, no doubt, and I applaud you for ridding us of him. But there is no comparison to SDK! GRed John was a common sociopath. Lazy. Sloppy. Delusional."

"You really have no idea what you're saying. GRed John..."

"GRed John is dead! And the fact that he allowed himself to be caught and killed by you, just proves my point. Compared to SDK, GRed John... the Icepick Killer... was nothing! An amateur. Already forgotten."

Enraged, he became so absorbed in building up SDK's image that he was unaware that he mirrored her same fatal flaw... that of belittling GRed John in a public forum.

  **J-------------------------A**

She got the call late that night. Was it fitting to return to the abandoned warehouse, the established scene of the crime? And apparently, place of retribution?

The first and only thing she saw was the classic GRed John smiley face – drawn clockwise using 3 fingers of, possibly, his right hand... painted with the victim's blood and brain matter.

GRed John thought of himself as a showman … an artist. He had a strong sense of theatre. The first thing that anyone saw was the face on the wall. You saw the face first and you knew. You knew what had happened and you felt dread. Then, and only then, did you see the body of the victim.

But this time she felt nothing. No dread, no glee. Neither was she interested in seeing the body. Her peripheral vision recognized that red and grey adorned him, that his innards were splayed outward, and in quite the twist of irony, that his real eyes were used as an almost googly-eyed adornment to the face on the wall.

This was not her intention. She did not plan to put a target on his back. She may have provoked a swift reaction from Taylor, but she was not the one who threw an entitled, whiny tantrum. The repercussions of his actions were all on him and Karma was a bitch.

And she was Britney... it's Britney, Bitch.

Justice was served. GRed John was still alive and active. And Jackson could no longer deny her claims, with the evidence of spilled guts grinning down maniacally at him. It irked her though, that that's what it took for him to see the truth. Not only did he not believe her, but where was his faith in her and her abilities? After all this time did he simply view her as someone having an emotional meltdown... someone to be pacified?

So, now she was the one holding on to righteous anger... and yeah, some disappointment.

* * *

The pot jumped. Not like when corn popped, but like... something big was moving inside it! And besides, the stove-top was off. No hissing though, which was good. She lifted the lid.

"What are you doing in there? Rabbit stew?" Nothing odd about that. She lifted the alive and whole white rabbit out and he promptly jumped out of her arms, without so much as a thank you for the assist. The great escape? Or perhaps he was late for a tea-party?

"Bunny... Bugs Bunny... where are you? Has anyone seen a rabbit around here?" she asked as she quickly made her way towards the last spotted hop. No one helped, everyone appeared preoccupied with the dead body. But  _she_  had more interesting things to do. So she left the house to roam outside.

Scratching her head she gazed all around the cul-de-sac. "Excuse me, did you happen to see a rabbit?" she asked the Dutch couple standing in their wooden clogs, carrying tulips.

"Ja," the man replied, pointing to the gate leading into the garden next door.

"Hello fella. There you are. Gotcha." Why did he run away from her? It's not like she was gonna chop off his head. The Queen of Hearts was no friend of hers. Maybe he wanted some carrot cake for her un-birthday? "Eh, what's up Doc?"

"You found him." Where did  _this_  young dude pop-up from?

"I take it this belongs to you?" she asked the teen... pre-teen, maybe...?

"Yeah... third time he's escaped. Chews through the metal like a floppy-eared rat. Thanks for bringing him back," nameless boy said as he returned Bugs to his comfortable looking home.

"Oh, pleasure."

He was a handsome lad. And there was something very familiar about him. She just couldn't put her finger on what it was. Maybe he was in disguise? Like Superman adding ditched glasses to become Clark Kent or untanned, color stripped Hulk becoming Bruce Banner.

"You certainly took your time getting here."

"You were expecting me?" Huh?

"Of course."

"You know something about the murder?"

"Yeah... poor Mr. Burke."

"You know anything that can help us?"

"You tell me."

"How can I know what you know?"

"How can I know what I know will help you?" Smart kid, he was talking circles around her. Which, usually, was something she did to others.

"You're testing me. Why? You don't have issues with authority figures... you know you're the smartest person in most rooms... what's your name?"

"Am I required to tell you?"

"I'm just a consultant, you don't have to tell me anything."

"Then I won't."

"Okay. Have it your way." She turned to leave. She was the adult, she knew all about that reverse psychology. She could even number it as one among her many talents.

"Wait... where're you going?"

"Well you're playing me. You don't have anything helpful to offer me..."

"Stop. Who's playing who? You think you can manipulate me with reverse psychology?"

"Seems to be working."

"Well it's not. I'll help you. But not because of your lame attempt to prey on my ego. I'm bored. Not a whole lots going on in my world."

"What world's that?"

"C'mon."

Where was this kid taking her? Considering that she was the adult, shouldn't it be the other way around? And how were they getting there? What mode of transport? Who would drive? The boy was too young to be a licensed driver.

"Weird. Like a place in a dream."

"Close... but no cigar. You're getting warmer though."

"What? Who are you really? What's your name?"

"Here we go again with the name. You have a definite tendency to obsess. Do people ever tell you that?"

"All the time. What are you hiding?"

"You tell me. You're the mentalist."

"I never said I was a mentalist."

"Spooky. So how did I know?"

"You're playing a little game with me and I wanna know why. Who are you, what's your name?"

"Samuel."

"Well okay, that's half a name. It's a start. Half a nice name... I had a son named Samuel."

"I know."

"No. No, you don't. Who put you up to this? GRed John?" No, this was not fun anymore. She'd enjoyed the witty sparring, but this was going too far.

"GRed John, GRed John... really? I'm so over GRed John."

"You're not my son. My son was murdered. I found his body."

"You are safe, you are loved and you are wise."

"Who told you those words?"

"You did. Every night when you tucked me into bed."

The only thing that made sense around here was that nothing made sense. Was she in The Twilight Zone? Original, not re-boot... Although, Jordan Peele? Hubba Hubba... In that case, she was okay with being rebooted.

"You're not real. You're a hallucination."

"Depends on your point of view, I suppose. It's the only reality that I know."

"How come I'm strapped down?"

"Because you  _are_  strapped down. Yeah, they're pumping your stomach right now. Listen..." Okay. The hallucination did not lie. There was a swishing sensation and then she heard the sounds of a hospital ER. She was... Trauma...? if she wasn't mistaken.

"Well how about that. So... you're my son. Or at least how I imagined my son to be all grown up."

"Do I meet your approval?"

"You're a bit lippy."

"Yeah, I get that from you."

"Yeah. Sorry. Not really crazy about that."

"Well you didn't turn out exactly the way I expected either."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What happened to you? I've been dead for years and you're still stuck in neutral. You've no life, just this endless obsession, GRed John, GRed John. Nana and Pop would not be happy."

"My relationship with my parents is my business. Show a little respect."

"Hey, I'm a figment of your imagination. Show yourself some respect."

"This is what I've been missing out all these years? When do you go to college again?"

"Umm, you can't even be real with someone who doesn't exist. Does anyone know who you are?"

"Yes."

"Who? Well c'mon, who?"

"Avery... Jackson... he knows me."

She felt herself slipping under... she was so tired... She didn't want to go though. Even lecturing her, as he was, she wanted, no needed, to be with him. Her baby boy... so grown up... saving China.

_Err, what? How did Mulan get in there?_

**J-------------------------A**

"Kepner, can you hear me? April...?"

"Avery? Jackson... Jackson...?"

"Hey, Kepner."

"Hey, I'm back," she singsonged.

"Yeah. You're gonna be okay, April. They pumped your stomach. You took some kind of..."

"Halogen...? Hallucinogen." She didn't think she was out for more than a few minutes, but she could be forgiven for the slurred speech. She was still groggy. "Was it in the tea?"

"Belladonna leaves," Jackson confirmed. "We really should look into getting you into a 12-step programme, Kepner. Teaholics Anonymous." He smiled as he said it. He'd teased her about her British 'Spot-of-Tea' addiction many times before. "Maybe you should hold off on beverages from crime scenes, huh? The doctor says it could take a few hours to leave your system, but you're gonna be okay. You just need to rest."

"Yeah," she giggled. No idea why, but the guy was hilarious. He had her tell everyone that. One time she'd said Karev was the funniest and she never heard the end of it. Called her his worst teammate ever. In jest, of course. Well, probably joking. Now, before anyone even thought to ask, she declared, deadpan, that he was the wittiest person she knew. "Your lips look so pink... what shade lipstick is that?"

"It's healthy blood-flow, Kepner. Damn." Yep, there it was. The comedic stylings of Kepner-Avery. Better for funniest to get top billing, instead of alphabetical to go up first. Right? "Aside from your observational skills, how're you feelin'?"

"Parched," she stuck her tongue out, pantomiming dry-lipped, desert-area dog. "So thirsty. Can you get me a little water? Please, Belladonna..."

Sweet talk and clever endearment notwithstanding, it seemed to her that he paid more than special attention to her kisser, like he wanted to take a big bite. But what did she know, she was high as a kite?

**J-------------------------A**

"Ooh, great parking! You're still here!" She hadn't waited for Jackson, or the water. She had work to do... places to meet, people to go. And killers to catch. So she was thrilled to find her car right where she never left it, outside the hospital. And a passenger to boot.

"You're still tripping."

"It would seem so." Her hallucination was not wrong.

"You really shouldn't be driving. And you especially should not be driving an ambulance."

"Wow that's some strong tea. Uh oh..."

Dang, that was quick! Tracked down by Agent Avery. He did not look happy. Or was that just his face? And where was her water?!

"Now you're stealing an ambulance?"

"No, no. Just admiring the interior. Wicked GPS. How much you think one of these rigs goes for? Riggs," she snorted. "I shot him through the jacket, you know. It was a good jacket. I looked good in that jacket! Did not even cost wardrobe a lot... I was a thrifty find. Nowhere near twenty million dollars. But some people need that much. For the Botox, I suppose... coz white done crack now."

"April," he shook his head at her, but she caught that smile of amusement at her rambling. Not all of it could be laid at the feet of the deadly nightshade tealeaves. Some of it was just her. "You need bed rest."

"Move! Or I will run you down. I think I have to drive this ambulance to that hospital over there! Whoa... I really need to get back to work."

Now where did  _that_  come from? She was drugged up good and solid. A certified trauma. Luckily it was not rat poison, or laced cookies. Naw, that could only happen on one of those straight to video, B-grade, frat boy movies with all the farting, puking, shitting and release of other body excrements that those writers deluded themselves into thinking were appealing and amusing plot.

"What's his story? Does he have a girlfriend?"

"Be quiet."

"I didn't say anything."

"I was talking to the hallucination."

"C'mon, in bed, now."

"Why Mr. Avery, are you trying to get me into bed?"

"Yes." Followed by mumbling that she couldn't quite catch. Or decipher. Something about a woodshed...? Hospital bed, maybe? But, nah, that made no sense at all.

"Not in front of the kid, Jackson! Anyway, I think I made a breakthrough in the case. Just before the whacky tea kicked in."

"Fine. I will have Adamson come down here with crime scene photos."

"Not the same. I have to be there. Hallucinations are part of the subconscious. Mine could be clues."

"We'll go when you're lucid."

"Well when I'm lucid I could forget everything. But right now, lemme tell you, right now my visions are very, very real."

"In other words, you wanna use drugs to solve a case?"

"Some great minds did their best work on hallucinogens."

"Now you have a great mind?"

"Ooh, I like him." Since this was Samuel as her subconscious, did this mean that she liked him twice?

"Oh, you're funny. Double act huh?"

"Kepner, you're scaring me."

"Avery... you can call me April. Drugs is not the path I would choose, but it's been chosen for me. So, I must stay the course. Please, I implore you, take me back to the start..."

I tell you, he was no match for the doped up, droopy doe eyes, fluttering lashes and lip-biting exaggerated pout. Take that, sexy eyes! Or as her friends called him, just 'Eyes'.

**J-------------------------A**

"... then I heard a bang in that pot there on the stove."

"What was in the pot?"

"A rabbit."

"Like that mug?"

"Yeah, just like that. But my rabbit was real with a diamond necklace."

"That is some hallucinogen."

The smart-ass punk that was her son wanted to know... "He's kinda cute. Nice eyes. You guys ever...?"

"You be quiet."

So she, in the guise of her child, asking herself if they ever got down and dirty. Did they? She sure would like to know.

"... and I went through the gawking neighbors and across the street. Right here I met this lovely Scandinavian couple that spotted the rabbit hopping up that path."

"They were Scandinavian?"

"Yes. Or maybe Dutch? It's a clue right? Scandinavia ... reindeer ... Christmas ... I might have just figured out that the killer has a December birthday."

"Hmm. Did the couple you met kinda look like these garden gnomes? You must have walked by them on your way into the backyard."

"Classic." Well at least Samuel was amused.

"Shush, peanut gallery."

"Still waiting for the subconscious clues to kick in, Kepner."

"They will. Follow me."

He really was being quite accommodating. Mellow, even. Did he perhaps partake in the tea too? He  _did_  like to share in her food, so maybe...

"So tell me what happened back here in your vision."

"This is where I met Sammy."

"Sammy?"

"Samuel, my son."

"Is that who you've been talking to?"

"Yes."

"He here right now?"

"Yeah."

"April... maybe your subconscious didn't send you any clues from the crime scene. Maybe it just sent you your son."

"You should maybe listen to him, Mom. I think I may have liked him. Except, that shirt? Whoa."

"I know, right!" she agreed with her son then turned to address her... Boss? Partner? Friend? Almost significant, not yet with benefits? "Samuel agrees with me about that shirt, Jackson." Back to Samuel, "Maybe he's the one tripping…" then swiveling her head back around to Jackson, "Maybe you're the one tripping…"

Man this was dizzying. Her head felt like it had completed a 360 degree rotation. This must be what the demon in 'The Exorcist' felt like. No control and no filter.

"Hey, I have good taste. Got it from my favorite uncle, Norbert. I kid you not. Bob's your uncle. Or in my case, Bob's my father, Norbert's my uncle."

"You're confused, Avery. Are you still high?"

"You're the one that's wasted, Kepner. By the way, I like the name Samuel. Could definitely picture it for my kid. Samuel Norbert Avery."

"Would you really do that to your own kid?"

"Why not? Shows good, strong, character. Like Harriet Tubman. Wait... that would so work for a daughter."

"Questionable taste in names and fashion aside, I like him. He would have made a great dad, I think. Still could, I suppose." Aah, Samuel stamp of approval. Her subconscious must really like the guy.

"Not discussing this with you, Norbert."

This was workable. Obviously she was partial to Samuel, even though Norbert sounded like he would need to learn to defend himself early on. And Harriet... Tubman and The Spy. She loved both. Strong names built strong character.

"Excellent. Let's bring everyone in tomorrow and wrap this one up."

"What does that mean?"

"Finish. Move on. Concern ourselves with something more important."

The case would be closed, the effects of the drug disappeared, but did she really want to go back to a reality with no Samuel? She needed some tea. She wondered where she could get some Belladonna leaves...

**J-------------------------A**

"This is so dull."

"The early bird _may_ get the worm, but the second mouse definitely gets the cheese."

"Umm huh? So cheese trumps worms, right? You sayin' it's better to come after, then?"

"Of course, that goes without sayin'. Maybe Rock, Paper, Scissors it. So... Worm, Cheese... Honey?"

"I'm scared of bees."

"Eventually every letter of the alphabet will terrify you."

"Stop. You're embarrassing me. You're so unconventional."

"Conventional is the enemy of interesting."

"So why do you even work for the SBI anyway?"

"You know why. To catch GRed John."

"GRed John," he snorted out the poisonous name in disgust. "Any punk killer wants to fool with you can paint a smiley face on the wall. Ooh, it's GRed John. GRed John has your mind completely messed up. You see him every place you look."

"You know why."

He rolled his eyes. Just like any teenager would. This was some real motherfucking shit. Her therapist would be having a field day. "Uh, ohhkay. Whatever."

"Now what does that 'okay, whatever' mean? And don't roll your eyes at me."

"Well to be honest, Mom, your obsession is a little creepy and weird, you know."

"Wait, what? I do it all for you..."

"Yeah. I hate to be the one to break this to you, but there's nothing that you can do for me. For us. We don't give a damn what happens to GRed John. I mean, we're dead. Gone. You need to start dealing with that."

"I deal with that everyday."

"Maybe that's the problem."

* * *

"This is God... what is it now?!"

"Gaah...ugh, you, er, startled me."

"I crawled all the way on my hands and knees from that door. It was worth it."

"What are you doing here?"

"Ahem. What are  _you_  doing here? This is a church. With all those hard benches. They're called pews, by the way. And those wafers they put in your mouth...? not waffles. Anyway, it's good to see you. How have you been?"

"Worried sick is how I've been. And I've been checking out your regular spots, that's what I'm doing here. And then you pop in here behind me like some weirdo..."

"Okay, okay. Sorry. Just stay calm, okay? It's important that no one sees us together."

"Why not? Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to do!"

"I'm faking my breakdown, Jackson. It's a ploy to trap GRed John."

Switching roles. Again. This was  _his_  time to be upset with  _her_. Again. It couldn't be helped though. For the ruse to work she'd had to cut all ties. And it had to look genuine. Coz let's face it, Jackson was just the  _worst_  actor. Terrible. He would not have been able to pull it off. Maybe could've passed muster if she was there to coach him, but without her...? he was as wooden – not in the good way – as a carved Pinocchio. Not a real boy.

"You what now? Really, April? Do you know how terrified I've been for your safety?! It's like you were on the frontlines of your own warzone and not only was I in the dark about the dangers you faced but you were also out of my reach. I didn't know where you were… if you were even alive." His voice wavered emotionally there towards the end before he brought it back under control. In time to admonish her some more. If she didn't know better she'd almost think he was in here praying for her. Asking for any deity to show up for her. "Ever since Webber fired you and you went off the grid, I've been outa my mind with worry."

"That guy has it in for me. Far be it from the first time he tried to fire me. It's not like I messed up the ABC's of CPR, missed steps and misdiagnosed a client, leading to her death?"

"Huh? ... Okay... that's kinda specific and sounds fake but okay..."

"Neither did I fail a board-certification examination."

"Wrong show, Kepner."

"Oh right. Wait. Maybe he's jealous?"

"Wait. Wait, what? Err, why would he... I wasn't really... well, what I mean... see, the thing is... I only like girls."

Why so flustered Mr. Avery? Strong He-Man too pretty, eh? Getting hit on by the boys too?

It had to be those eyes. She'd seen many alleged perps come clean about their criminal endeavors just by having those laser beams centered on them. No words, just that intense gaze. They cracked like eggs ready to be scrambled, confessions spilling effortlessly. Suspect to self-confirmed guilty party in the space of one interview.

As for the non-felons, they were simply mesmerized. Some even ready to own up to stuff they didn't do.

Personally, while she thought him attractive – the alignment of his form was close to being perfectly symmetrical, hence aesthetically pleasing for the most part – she could and did ignore it. His intellect, rapier-like wit and humor were what drew her in.

"No, Avery. I meant about his daughter."

"Huh? You lost me again."

"Men... so clueless. How could you not tell when both of them were throwing her at you? Wait... that discounts the jealousy theory then."

"C'mon Kepner, that is so far outa left field, and just so wrong on so many levels. She's what, like twelve? Like if I had a little sister. That's the way I think of her anyhow. And you know my mom and Webber...? I don't like to go there, but I think The Chief banged my mother. Also, don't change the subject."

"Whaat? The best sex of her life, you think?"

"Gaah!"

"Sorry, sorry. Wait, so Webber could be your Dad? And what's her name... his daughter...? she could really be your sister?"

"No, he's not my father. At least I don't think so. No, pfft… of course he isn't. Had to get these eyes from somewhere. But, yeah I do think of Gaggót in more of a sisterly way. Can we move on from this, please?"

"Hmm... I could have sworn that wasn't her name."

"It's the nickname she gave herself. Donno why she told me all this, it's not like we're close. She said it sounded exotic. French. Like escargót and Brigitte Bardót. Started off as Maggót – her name's actually Margaret – but that sounded too much like Maggoo, so she changed it to Gaggót. Are you satisfied now that you know the entomology of her name? Enough? Can we...?"

"Yeah, sorry. Moving on. So anyway..."

Now what kinda person gave themselves a nickname? Her experience of a made-up moniker was that it was a name coined by others that incorporated something of that person's appearance, characteristic or even an emotion they evoked. An endearment. Nine times out of ten, the word ended up being complimentary – and complementary – fostering a feeling of warmth and caring even though it sometimes ended up being an opposite expression. And that one time it reflected – still appropriately – jagged emotions... Jaggie?

Maggót-Gaggót confounded her though. It was like the PR was outa whack. Almost like she desperately wanted to force-feed a stolen identity on her audience so as to become palatable to them.

And then there was the gossip that Reed had shared with her. Reed had seen Webber with the Harry Potter Series of Books and upon him noticing her side-eye at his reading material, he'd explained that it was a gift for a special someone, who apparently fancied herself a Hermione.

As Alice would say, curiouser and curiouser.

"Wait, so how does faking a breakdown – if that's what you're  _really_  doing because it looks pretty real to me – how does that trap GRed John?"

"What does GRed John want from me? That little girl on the field trip that he lured away... Sofia? What did he send her to ask me?"

"...Do you give up?"

"Exactly. And I do give up. I quit. I..."

"We..ll. Technically, you were fired."

"Semantics. Not important. Pay attention here, Jackson. So, I give up. I quit. I burn the GRed John files. I freak out at the boss. I admit defeat and I sink into a terrible depression."

"Brilliant. You did that part great. Now what?"

Dude was on fire with the snark! His level of sarcasm was in direct correlation to the level of his anger… and hurt. She had some making up to do. And the best way was by way of explaining the plan. The pertinent details anyway. As for the rest, she would make it up to him later. After GRed John was either arrested or killed. She was fine with the latter. Justice delayed, but still served.

"Well, why doesn't he just kill me? Because it's too easy, that's why. He wants to turn me. He wants to make me his disciple. So, I admit defeat and then he reaches out to start a conversation."

"That's all supposition. He's not gonna..."

"He already has reached out. He sent me a message. I need to start a new life and he can help me."

"Help you... he wants to help you?"

"Yeah."

"What are you going to do?"

"Well I'm going to take him up on the offer. I'm in a lot of real trouble. I  _do_  need a new life."

"Yes, you do."

"That's what makes the gag work."

"Then what?"

"Oh, I donno. I let him lead. That's the beauty of it. He thinks I'm the fish and he's the fisherman."

"Unless he sees the truth."

"I am giving him his heart's desire. He will see what he wants to see."

"Or not."

"Fooled you, I can fool him."

Oops. She hadn't meant to go there. She was tryna make amends here, not rub his nose in the fact that she hadn't trusted him enough to share this part of it. She'd actually been saving him. Reciprocating the protection, if you will. Did not seem to have gone over well. At all.

"Yeah, you fooled me alright. Well done."

"Calm down. Why are you over reacting?"

"I tried calling you hundreds of times. Begging you to talk to me. Begging you to get help. Not a reply, not a word, not a text."

"Sorry? You're so cute when you get angry."

"You know what? I have not been sleeping, I've been... forget it. Nevermind."

"I can't talk to you when you're being so emotional."

"You know what? You're a jerk. And your plan? It's stupid. It's not even a plan."

"But you will help me?"

"What am I supposed to say? No? Gah. You're just a... a... such a... pain in the backside."

"Ahh, foreplay. Bringing out the big guns. You're really mad, huh? Pulling out the clinical terminology..."

"I'd rather think of it in terms of your butt on the line, then having the picture of tapping that ass... Da— He— H E double hockey sticks!"

"Language, Jackman! We  _are_  in a church. I'll contact you, okay? In the meantime, no communication. And that goes for SBI too. And don't tell anyone the truth. Not a soul."

"I cannot believe you didn't tell me you were doing this. That you couldn't trust me with a secret like that. We're supposed to be partners. I'm happy you're back... but what you did? Frankly that was a betrayal. April? Damn, I see you sneakin' out. Lurkin' and sneakin'. Oh Fu— you're really trying me here, Kepner!" he shouted out the last forgetting two things it seemed. One that they were being incognito and two that Church was a quiet place.

She sneaked out on him mid dressing down. And yeah okay, she totally deserved to be raked over the coals, but now was not the time for reprimands. All talk and no action made Jack-son a dull boy… or something like that. Jackson Action  _was_  a thing.

Anyway, it was time to go on the offensive and to stop letting GRed John call all the shots.

**J-------------------------A**

"I've been thinking about what you said about your friend." Phase 2 of Plan Get GRed John (Take 2?), was a go.

"Yes...?"

"You said that he could help me start a new life. What does that mean exactly?" Hammering out the details with the newest GRed John minion. She seemed quite high up on the totem pole, so progress!

"A new identity. Money. A place to live. A job, if you want one."

"And I do what in exchange?"

"Accept his friendship."

"It's that easy?"

"He'll want to speak to you first. Make sure you're on the level, if that's alright?"

"Yeah."

"And you'll need to bring him a gift. To show your respect for him."

"What kind of gift?"

"Well, Jackson Avery's dead body would be the perfect thing."

"That's absurd!"

"What did you tell me? There is no right or wrong, there's just stuff that happens."

"No... no, there has to be something else."

"I can't think of anything else that would please him more."

"Well, I can't do that."

"I understand you're not there yet, but look at it from his point of view. How else will he know you've truly had a change of heart?"

Expect the unexpected. Carnie her knew that, and she also knew that GRed John was nobody's fool. She had anticipated the likelihood of being hit with a curve ball, but man… the price to pay for simply getting into the game was a steep one.

**J-------------------------A**

"Kepner? What are you doing here?"

"There you are!" Making sure she was seen by all of the bullpen – not that there were many as it was only nightshift detectives and dedicated workaholics left – she led him into his office. With the blinds closed it effectively cocooned them, allowing for privacy. She couldn't resist enfolding him in a bear hug. "Good luck, Jackson. Love you."

He gazed resignedly at the gun in her hands. She pulled the trigger, firing thrice. And for good measure, victim number two, running in at the loud retorts, shot at close range, obliterating face and features. News at eleven.

**J-------------------------A**

"Ugh, I'm hungry. Being shot dead in the face is hard work. Getting me some take out. You guys want anything?"

"Always. Especially if it's nachos. Or tacos. Or maybe a burrito? Oh what the heck, anything Mexican. Getting killed sure builds up an appetite. I could really go for hot and spicy."

"I'm good, thanks. The more pertinent question is what doesn't make you hungry, Avery." She shook her head affectionately at his eclectic foodie antics. "Err, Percy...?" she turned to remind him.

"I know, Kepner. Disguise, and don't call Re—err, anyone."

"Think how happy she's gonna be when you come back to life."

"Hah, yeah. But hey, why I always gotta be the one disfigured? Pretty Boy over here still gets to be pretty."

"Percy."

"Sorry, Boss. Later los—err, bye."

Interesting predicament this put them in. Or going with the food analogy, since she was sharing this space with two hungry men… now wasn't this a fine pickle she'd gotten them into!

"Take out. Interesting, isn't it."

"Well, I find all food fascinating. But what's so riveting about take-out?"

"Don't you just love that it could mean food, dating or murder?"

"If you're a praying mantis, it can be all three at once. So, where'd you find this place, Kepner?"

"The owner owes me poker money he'll never pay back."

"Aah, gotcha. So... that thing you said before you shot me? What did you mean?"

"What did I say? I was kinda hyped up."

"Oh, me too. I thought at any moment we were gonna get found out."

"Yeah. Oh… Arizona Robbins is calling. She's probably seen the breaking news. Gotta take this."

The gang was all here. They may have been a bit pissed at her disappearing act, but they were still her squad. So when presented with the details of the off-the-book op, they'd volunteered without hesitation. To all of Seattle that tuned in for the morning news, April Kepner – consultant to the SBI – had brutally gunned down two of her co-workers, Jackson Avery and Charles Percy. While Percy's body languished in the morgue, face blown off in the altercation, Avery was a missing corpse.

"Charles should be happy. GRed John's gift needs to be your pretty head, Pretty Boy. What you think, melon or soccer ball?" The call from Robbins that had interrupted her heart-to-heart with an alive but hungry Avery, was all about the details. Specifically the where and when, and throwing a wrench in the works, was the how. All GRed John wanted was Jackson Avery's head.

"Meeting place is like a ghost town."

"Smart move by GRed John. Tough to set up any kind of surveillance in advance. Any movement is gonna be conspicuous."

"He must be suspicious."

"No, he's just cautious. He's hooked. Believes."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because he wants to believe."

**J-------------------------A**

The ghost town looked like it had housed army personnel from a nearby base, along with their families, before being abandoned. Perfect matchbox residences, though. Like a Stepford community. Locating the address, she came upon a bicycle fitted with an empty basket, perfectly sized to accommodate Jackson Avery's big head. Taped to the carrier was a note directing her to another location, while also instructing her to bring Avery along. It was as if she was on a serial killer treasure hunt, with each clue bringing her closer to her prey. How was that for irony?

"Uhm, interesting. And the game begins. Hey, Avery, how you like riding on the handlebars of a woman's bike?" she asked him via the listening device.

"Ha-ha."

"It's kinda romantic. Wind in your hair, err—ears."

"You're being weird."

"5065 ... 5067... 5069... Wait, there's no 5071 Keston Drive. There's nothing. Only sand. Ooh, ooh, Avery… you're dessert in the desert," she snorted out a laugh, "and I love me some cookies."

"How are you laughing at a time like this, Kepner? Focus, please. And don't do anything reckless."

"Who, moi? I am the very model of a modern major general."

"C'mon Japril, no unnecessary chatter on the coms." Reed's voice. Scolding while still matchmaking.

"Ja-vol, speak only vhen spoken to. Oh... hang on. Long, black Limousine pulling up..."

"We're moving in. We'll be on the scene in three minutes. Stay healthy till then."

"Wait, let's just be sure. Large man with a gun... GRed John's girl. This is it."

"Right. We're moving in."

**J-------------------------A**

Arizona Robbins was a hard woman. And judging by the company she kept, irredeemable. She knew exactly what GRed John was. Not only did she not make apologies for his murderous rampages, but, judging by what she'd asked of April, she seemed to be complicit in his crimes. Caution was the name of the game, in dealing with her. She needed to tread with care, lest her true agenda became exposed. And, who knew, perhaps scraping at Robbins Achilles heel could very well get her to turn.

"Hi."

"Hey."

"That the gift?" Robbins indicated the carton she carried, removed from the bicycle basket.

She nodded. "GRed John in there?" she motioned towards the Limo.

"He's looking forward to speaking with you. You know, April, there's a childish hopefulness about you that's really quite delightful. Like asking to try on my leg. That cracked me up. You can put the box on the hood. What is it? A football? Cabbage?"

"Melon. Honeydew."

"You had one job. Just the one."

"Yeah, well, it's organic."

"Adorable."

So began her tête-à-tête with the shadowy figure in the back of the Limousine.

"Frisk her, then put her in the passenger seat." Arizona was not taking any chances and since the jig was up about the head in the box – well apparently neither of them expected that she would deliver – she saw no point in trying to hide that she was wired for sound. Which GRed John Goon easily confiscated.

“Hello, April.” His tone was not as deep as she expected. He sounded... prepubescent... before voice drop? And whiny. Whereas she expected mature. And that strange echo...? almost like an audio modification device...?

"Hey. How you doing?"

"Debonair at all costs huh?"

"When did you know?"

"Oh you strung me along for a good long while. Well done. Luckily I have a good friend in the FBI, so I found out when the FBI found out." He was quiet after that. Probably expecting some gasp of disbelief at his bombshell. Then, "Cat got your tongue?"

"I have nothing to say."

"Really? Nothing?"

"Go to hell, goes without saying, so yes, nothing."

"As you well know, April, there is no hell. When I die I won't be punished. But if you really did have a change of heart... what if you and I were friends, Kepner? Imagine the life we could lead... It's a higher path, April. A nobler existence."

"Like I said, go to hell."

"As you wish. Robbins, cut off two of her fingers. You choose which. Then leave."

"Aah..." Quick and dirty. She was manhandled by the villainous big hulk. Roughly and rapidly removed from the vehicle, she was pushed down onto the hood, with his full weight resting on her back, allowing no room for even the slightest of movements from her. Her arm was twisted, pulled away from her body, hand stretched out for easy access to all her fingers.

"I'm sorry." Arizona was prepared, pliers at the ready. Her remorse was laughable. Obviously not genuine, otherwise why would she go ahead with the anesthesia-less amputation.

**J-------------------------A**

Never let it be said that she couldn't appreciate the effect making an entrance caused. Cutting it close and down to the wire. Unintentionally though. The op went south and it was all the fault of the FBI. She could be forgiven for her previous bad thoughts about them, but in this instance  _she_  could forgive  _them_. No harm, no foul, right?  
  
"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Never better. Nick of time, Avery, nick of time. Almost shy two digits."

The FBI sure had made a mess of things, by intercepting the SBI team. The lead agent had figured out that Percy didn't exactly match the corpse they had down in the morgue, the John Doe cadaver being a few inches shorter. They'd had to make do, of course. With suspicions aroused, Agent Hahn had pinged Karev and Reed, thereby interrupting the sting at a most inopportune moment, while also discovering Avery and Percy alive and kicking. Jackson had had to talk real fast to get her up to speed, before she allowed them to leave, she and her agents tagging in. Sirens flashing they'd pulled up to the dusty lot that was 5071 Keston Drive just as Robbins and her ten-blade were set to cut. This would not have been a neat incision, seeing as her scalpel was actually a pair of pliers. And her purpose was to harm, not heal.

Not that she would admit it to them, but she was grateful that they'd come in guns a-blazing. Robbins and the Goon had pushed her aside, jumped into the Limo and sped off. Shoot-out with the FBI had ensued, bringing the bullet-ridden vehicle to a halt a short distance away, atop a sandy dune. Hands up in the air, Robbins had alighted the vehicle with nary a graze, but here was the kicker. In the back seat where the voice of GRed John had emanated from, was bound and gagged FBI Agent Shane Ross. His corpse was riddled with bullets, but not surprisingly, the kill-shot appeared to originate from somewhere in the immediate proximity to himself, causing a neat little hole smack dab between his eyes. Attached to his strapped body was a mobile phone on speaker and was the conduit through which GRed John had addressed her. He had not been lying, as it appeared that Ross was his man inside the FBI.

At least Robbins was captured alive. Perhaps, now finally, they could get to identifying GRed John.

**J-------------------------A**

Well, well, well, come on down Arizona Robbins... if this isn't the consequences of your own actions.

"I'm very happy to meet you, Arizona. We rarely get the chance to talk to someone who knows GRed John so well."

"Good to meet you too. Heard so much about you. She wouldn't stop going on and on about you and being soul mates even when you're ninety years old."

"Enough with the inconsequential chit-chat, Robbins," she'd interrupted, taking over the interrogation from Avery. "I know it's hard to believe now but you're going to talk to us. You're gonna break down and tell us everything you know about GRed John. You're gonna sing like a bird."

"No, I won't."

"Yes, you will. You will. Frankly I don't understand why you would want to protect the identity of your brother's murderer?"

"Nice try. But you're wrong. Timothy was killed by a random mugger and GRed John would never... Lies. All lies. You're making stuff up."

"Am I? GRed John took away your one sanctuary. He made you a victim so he could rescue you."

"No."

"He preyed on your pain."

"No. It's not true."

"You don't want it to be true, but it's true. And you can feel that it's true."

"Just stop! God, you're just like GRed John you know that? Relentless manipulation. I only wonder why the two of you didn't become life-long friends the moment you shook hands."

A slip of the tongue and just the break she needed. Robbins had clammed up then, refusing to utter another peep. Just before the transfer to lock-up had happened, however, she'd whispered to Arizona to find out the truth directly from the source. To ask GRed John himself. So it came as no surprise to her, when the transpo was hijacked. Either GRed John tying up loose ends or Robbins making a plan.

"I know you ... And you know I know."

"And I know you know I know..."

"This is not funny. If they find out you could be charged as an accomplice to murder, April."

"If they find out. They won't. Unless, of course, you sing to the coppers."

"Which I won't. And that makes me an accomplice to murder as well."

"Only if you look at it like a very persnickety lawyer."

"Kepner, I am your partner. Not her. You're my road dog. You need to be honest with me."

"I know."

"I'm aware that it was unpleasant, but you're such a professional. You did such incredible work down to the last frame and I'm really proud to have had our time together."

"Why are you speaking to me like I'm going away... or dying? You planning on taking me out, Avery?"

Investigating GRed John, getting close, they'd come across a multitude of his followers and this helped shed some light on certain aspects of his personality. Rounding-off his profile somewhat. These admirers ... hanger-ons ... followers ... fans? they saw him as a savior, someone who gave their life purpose. They willingly aided him in his various nefarious schemes and murders in gratitude for what he gave them.

As an analogous comparison to current American 'leadership'... It was like he was the Cheeto-in-Chief, Humpty Trumpty and they were the MAGA sycophants.

Apparently his reach was extensive. His gifts ranged from a new life, an occupation, or some form of compensation. Off the books, under the table and obviously untraceable. His supporters did not simply aid him, but worshiped him and would – and had – willingly surrendered their lives for his cause, refusing to ever reveal any information about their leader or how they met him. So noxious and obnoxious was his influence that his fans took to shading, twitter trolling and hurling abuse at his detractors, claiming to be protecting and defending the vile toxicity that was him.

The team and she had come to the realization that GRed John was more influential than they could have ever imagined. He had connections in law enforcement and an entire cult of brainwashed supporters under his complete control and at his beck and call. But, even an all-powerful could be impeached. So, silver lining?

* * *

"It's strange, right? At the precise moment when you get close GRed John reappears and murders somebody. It's gotta be a co-incidence, right?"

"I hope so."

"Are you going to make me beg?"

"For what?"

"C'mon stop it. How close are you exactly?"

"Assuming Robbins was telling the truth, GRed John is one of thirteen hundred and fifty-seven people who I've shaken hands with since my family were killed. I've whittled that list down to only those who could have possibly been at all GRed John murder sites."

"Now how many is that?"

"I have a list of seven names."

"That's great. Amazing actually. Tell me the names."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"What? Are you kidding? Why won't you tell me?"

"If I tell you why I won't tell you then you'll get mad at me."

"I'm already mad at you. Just tell me."

"No, you're not mad, you're just vexed. There is a difference."

"Semantics. C'mon Kepner, just tell me."

"I guess I should tell you why I'm not going to tell you. Some of the names are people that you know and you'll start acting differently around them and you may tip 'em off."

"Wait... what? No, I won't."

"Yes, you will. You can't help yourself. I mean, no offence, but you have no dishonesty in you."

"I do so have dishonesty in me! I can put on a front. I can keep secrets. I have secrets from you. Secrets you can  _not_  imagine."

"Riigght. Well, of course. How about I tell you three things about you that you think are secrets from me that I actually know? Then will you be convinced?"

"Sure. Go ahead."

"Okay."

"No, wait! Don't bother. I won't stoop to playin' your silly game."

"Wise call."

"Are these people I know well?"

"Very well."

"And if I were to guess... would you tell me if I guessed right?"

"Nope."

"You're killing me here, Kepner."

Life went on. The carousel continued to turn and GRed John was still killing. But she was close. Closer than she'd ever been. Seven names and out of that seven one of them was him. Or as she'd come to discover... the one could be a her.

"You know, way back when, when Bailey was still chief, I hired a petty thief to break into her safe for a list of GRed John suspects."

"Yeah, I know. I had to slug the guy in front of his lawyer to keep you out of jail. Cost me six months in anger management."

"Yeah and I hope you learned something."

Reminiscences. It was strange how time dulled pain enough for some of it to become anecdotal. Funny, even. The beauty in allowing time to heal. Giving time, time...?

"You know I've been thinking..."

"So have I."

"You first."

"I can't work like this, Apr—"

"No, sorry wrong. Me first. Umhm, I know I've been secretive and controlling. Not doing that anymore. I'm gonna tell you the seven names on the list, but you have to promise me you will not tell another living soul. Nobody."

"How can I put them under surveillance and investigate them if I can't tell anybody at the SBI who they are?"

"You can't."

"But I—"

"Nobody! Especially the SBI."

"Why?"

"Because one of the names on the list is Richard Webber..."

"What?"

"...your boss. Yes!"

"Wait, that's crazy. Again? And for real this time? How am I gonna face him? I'll have to hide in a closet. But the guy always seems to catch me in there. You think he's stalking me?"

"Maybe he wants to adopt you. C'mon be serious!"

"Okay. Who else?"

"Ohh... hold that thought. This stakeout just got interesting. There's your two innocents. GRed John's accomplice should reveal herself when the subterfuge plays out. Let's go."

Once more a case intertwined with GRed John. Essentially his minion involved in the kidnapping of a baby, after killing the mother. Who as it turned out was someone that had grown up on the carnie circuit. Joyful, always smiling, she'd been a happy memory.

The results were ancillary. He knew that she would solve the case, return the baby to her father and have the guilty party arrested. All of this, including the suicide of the unrepentant social worker, was for one purpose... so GRed John could get a private message delivered directly to her.

"What's on the disc that you got from GRed John's partner?" If nothing else, Avery was curious.

So she played the DVD...

" _Hello April. As you can see things didn't go as I planned. Don't say 'I told you so' please. GRed John wants me to read a note to you and in return I won't be made to suffer so much. He was really mad at me, so I think this is very fair under the circumstances."_

The prelude was all Arizona. Her own message to her. She then proceeded to read GRed John's...

" _Kepner... Robbins told me what she told you about shaking my hand. So I know that you've made a list and I know that by the time you watch this video you'll have narrowed that list down to a few names. That's quite a feat of memory and research. Brava. I bet you think you're pretty damn clever, but you're not. You got a lucky break. That's not clever. I'll show you clever. I'm going to kill a happy memory that you never told anyone and when you investigate I'm going to lead you right to this video. There's more. Right now I want you to take out your list of suspects and look at the names. I'll give you a moment."_

He was right. She handed over her list to Jackson and watched as he corresponded each one to the list Robbins read from.

" _Okay. The names are:_

_1\. Richard Webber – Director of SBI_

_2\. Addison Montgomery – FBI Special Agent_

_3\. Mark Sloan – Leader of Visualize_

_4\. Derek Shepherd – Former SBI Agent_

_5\. Meredith Grey – County Sheriff and part-time Medical Examiner_

_6\. Calliope Torres – Homeland Security Agent_

_7\. Owen Hunt – Forensic Services Agent_

_There. See, that's clever. But fair is fair, Kepner. You've changed the game, so there's new rules now. This new one was just the first of many. I'm going to start killing again. Often. Until you catch me or I catch you."_

* * *

The whittling down of seven suspects to five.

Owen Hunt: Forensic Services Agent, was the first to go. Permanently. Courtesy of the real GRed John. Thus proving that he was in fact not the notorious serial killer. He was killed to lure Avery to the crime scene while concurrently confirming the wire taps SBI had had installed on the residences of all seven GRed John suspects. Unauthorized.

GRed John had scared the bejesus outa her. To add insult to injury, he had used Hunt's blood and drawn his trademark smiley face onto Jackson's own mug, after tazzering him and knocking him unconscious. She was grateful that he hadn't killed Jackson too, but it confounded her. Was he interrupted or was this simply a way to drag out the game?

Next to go was Calliope Torres: Homeland Security Agent. She was a valid assumption for the list, seeming to be piggy-backing off all the investigative material that April had compiled. Her motives had been suspect though. Was she trying to bury all the evidence that could lead to herself, if she was GRed John? Everything had been made clear however, when Torres had abducted her to try and get her to give up the identity of GRed John. GRed John had killed Callie's sister.

"I was wrong about you. You're not GRed John, you're hunting him. Same as me," she'd said to Torres before the SBI agents that had rescued her, had dragged Torres away in handcuffs. The plan was to visit Callie Torres in prison to get the low-down on what she knew of GRed John. Unfortunately, by a suspicious quirk of fate, Torres was supposedly gunned down by FBI Special Agent Montgomery – another GRed John suspect – while trying to escape custody during her transport to lock-up.

And then there were five.

Alex Karev's libido got them their biggest break yet. A witness on a case, Ms. Isabelle Stevens, turned out to be not what she seemed. Flirting and a coffee date with Karev had been going fine, until she'd tripped herself up. Come to find out she was a PI, hired by an anonymous client to bug the SBI offices. They'd figured out too late that the mysterious client would need to tie up loose ends leading Karev and herself to reach Stevens home mere seconds after her attacker had left. As she lay dying from wounds inflicted by GRed John she'd whispered that he had a tattoo that could identify him. With her own blood she showed them... Three dots on the left shoulder.

That was her leverage. She needed to gather all five suspects together, same place same time, to check for the tattoo. Medusa, McDreamy, McSteamy, Cheater and The Chief. One of them was GRed John.

"I'm on-board with your plan."

"Good."

"On one condition. I wanna be there when you reveal GRed John."

"Okay."

"Seriously."

"I said okay."

"Yeah, but you didn't mean it."

"Did I not? How can you tell?"

"This is non-negotiable, April."

"I agree. A hundred percent."

"Wait, what is that? A shotgun?! Sure it's big enough?"

"Really, Jackson? Is now really the best time to play 'whose is bigger', huh?"

"Sorry."

"Obviously it's mine. Got that big-dick energy going on! Metaphorically speaking, of course."

He let out a snort of amusement. At which part of it, she was not sure. "Wait, we need to talk about later."

"I already told you..."

"Just hear me out. Please."

"Go ahead, not stopping you."

"You don't want me to be there?"

"No, I don't."

"You don't want me to be there because you think that I'm gonna try and stop you from killing GRed John."

"Are you saying that you won't?"

"What I'm saying is... some men, men like GRed John, they don't deserve a trial, they don't deserve a jury. They deserve what they have coming to them."

"Lemme get this straight... after all this time working in law enforcement you're just... changing your mind?"

"About GRed John? Yes."

"I'm surprised, Avery."

"What? You don't believe me?"

"Heavens no. You're the most honest person I know. You would never lie. Not about something like this. Right?"

"Right."

Webber, Montgomery and Grey had all been easy gets. They all belonged to law enforcement in one capacity or another. Each of the three RSVP'd acceptance of her invite. To meet up at her old home... the Kepner homestead. The remaining two she was surprised to find together. Not together-together, c'mon! Remove mind from gutter, please.

"Derek Shepherd, former SBI Agent and new errand-boy for charismatic cult leader Mark Sloan," she'd greeted.

"Visualize is not a cult. Mark Sloan is a guide and a beacon for all of us," he'd replied. He did sound enamored. Perhaps together-together wasn't so far off base.

Ironically, though, Mark Sloan was dying of a blood disorder. Specifically, cancer. Leukemia to be more precise. Could he be a literal GRed John?

Anyway, she convinced them all to attend her little soireé. This was GRed John Sting Operation number three and well you know what they say... third times a charm.

**J-------------------------A**

Jackson insisted on driving down with her, and was none too pleased when she pulled over.

"What are we doing?"

"I wanna see the sunset." She alighted and he followed. Both walking up a hill for a better vantage point.

"Okay, you done? We need to get going."

"There's something I want to tell you, Jackson. Something I should have said a long time ago. I want to thank you for everything that you've done."

"You can thank me later."

"No... I need to say this now. You have no idea what you've meant to me... what you mean to me. Thank you." She hugged him tightly. It felt like saying goodbye. And while there she lifted his cellphone. "I almost forgot, I have a surprise for you. Lemme just get it. Wait here, please."

As soon as she was out of his line of sight, she hoofed it, started the car and put pedal to the metal.

"April...! Kepner, damnit!"

He said he understood and would back her play, but why put him in the position of having to compromise his beliefs for her. She needed to do this alone.

"Hello." Unknown caller, unrecognizable number.

"Kepner."

"Avery." But she knew that voice. How did...? Probably flagged down a driver and used the 'I'm a cop' routine to confiscate phone and car.

"April... don't do this. Not without me."

"Jackson, I'm sorry."

"April, I'm begging you. You're in danger."

"It's gonna be okay. I'm gonna be okay."

"No, you're not. You do this and you're throwing your life away!"

"Bye, Jackson..."

"April... no... April... don't go..."

**J-------------------------A**

Not how she expected it to go. The shot-gun was a good motivator. It persuaded each of the men to remove their jackets and shirts and the two females to push back their left sleeves to where their upper arms became visible.

She noticed Webber's tattoo right off the bat, three dots on his left shoulder. She approached him, blood lust in her eyes, until...

"It's not what you think. You got it wrong. I'm not GRed John," he pleaded to her.

But what stopped her was Sloan. "Kepner, wait. Kepner, look here. Look," he directed her.

Three people had the tattoo. Identical. Three dots on the left shoulder. Richard Webber, Meredith Grey and Addison Montgomery.

She would get to the bottom of this. But GRed John had other plans. Before she could question each of the trio further, an explosion rocked the house and she was knocked unconscious.

**J-------------------------A**

When she came to, it was to find that she was, once again, in a hospital bed with Avery barking orders to the medical staff. She couldn't keep her eyes open though, but she felt safe knowing Jackson was there, so she allowed herself to drift under once more. The second time she awoke she was more alert.

"Welcome back," he greeted using his soothing, confidential voice. Yet his words were anything but calming. "There was an explosion at your house. Looks like GRed John brought in a bomb to kill you and the other suspects. I thought I lost you, April."

"I'm okay, Jackson. GRed John...?"

"It's Montgomery. I saw her tattoo. She escaped. Tried to shoot me but I clipped her. There's a BOLO out for her. She won't get far with that wound."

"No, no. Jackson, she's not the only one. Grey has the exact same tattoo."

"Grey's dead. And so are Sloan and Shepherd."

"And Webber. He has a tattoo as well."

"Fuck! He was just here. He was standing over you. He was trying to get me to leave. He was gonna kill you!"

"Where are my clothes? We've got to leave, Jackson. And you need to put out a state wide alert for Montgomery and Webber."

**J-------------------------A**

Jackson was right. Webber was on the lam, but luckily they'd managed to bring Montgomery in safely. She gave herself up, fearing for her life.

"I got hooked on pain meds and shot a young bystander during a chase. A 12-year old girl. Local cops took my blood, they had witnesses. Had me cold. Then this detective reaches out to me. Says they can make it all go away. And they did. All of it." A condition of her surrender was that she broke it down for them. From the beginning.

"Exactly who are they?" she asked.

"We call ourselves The Blake Association."

"Why?" This one was Avery's.

"Tyger, Tyger..." She remembered it from the chatter they'd picked up. What Owen Hunt had whispered before he died and something Callie Torres had mentioned she was looking into.

"Tyger Tyger, burning bright. From a poem by Blake. Someone's a big fan of his, I guess."

"Who else is in the association?"

"Cops, Judges, FBI Agents... anyone in law enforcement that needs a secret covered up."

"Like your habit."

"You need a favor you ask for it. You get asked to do something you do it."

"Tyger, Tyger."

"Yep."

"A secret society of dirty cops."

"And GRed John's a member."

**J-------------------------A**

Even with all law enforcement divisions on alert and on the look-out for him, Webber still managed to slip the net. They needed to up the ante, widen the field of exposure. SBI PR tagged her in for National Television coverage. She was only too happy to oblige.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice. We have SBI consultant, April Kepner, who is here to report a development in the GRed John case."

"Thank you, Teddy," she acknowledged as she replaced their PR liaison at the podium. "Since the serial killer known as GRed John killed my family, we've been hunting for him. Today we're pleased to announce that we finally have a name... a face. The Director of the Division of Law Enforcement, Richard Webber, is GRed John. He's armed and dangerous. If you see him, do not approach him. Call the Seattle Bureau of Investigation at once. Thank you."

They were in the end-zone. It wouldn't be long before they had GRed John. So, it was kinda rude to have the rug pulled out from under her. Returning to the bullpen, she walked into mild pandemonium. It was ordered chaos. And at the center of it all, yet another alpha male.

"... put down your phones and step away from your desks. Now!"

"I'm Special Agent in charge, Jackson Avery. Who the hell are you?"

"FBI Supervisory Agent, Ben Warren."

Ahh, pissing contest. A jurisdictional turf war? It could end up being a logistical nightmare.

"We're in the middle of a man-hunt for a very dangerous fugitive. Now if you would like to assist..."

"The head of this alleged law enforcement organization is a murderer. And a member of a massive criminal conspiracy."

"Which included FBI agents."

"Yes, and that's why the Bureau sent me here from the Austin, Texas office. To clean up the mess. I have a writ here from a Federal Judge. The FBI is closing down your organization, right now. So, listen up. As of this moment, all of you are relieved from your active duties."

"Agent Warren, we have a killer to catch." She had to butt in. They were so close...

"Well, that's our problem now. You had your chance to catch him and you blew it. If you were really trying."

"Yeah, okay. See you in the funny pages. Not letting you anywhere near my uterus."

She was exhausted. Too tired to start this fight again and really not up to re-training another boss. That would take time. And time was something she needed to collect for herself. It's not that she wasn't grateful to her team... her friends. But there was only so much they could do for each other before their paths diverged. That time was upon them.

"What now, April?"

"I don't know."

"Reed found some coded files on Webber's flash-drive. Shall we get started on those?"

"Nah, it's a waste of time. We're done. There's nothing more to do here. Go home, get some rest."

"You're not quitting. I don't believe it."

"No, I'm not quitting. I'm letting go. It's out of our hands for now. I'll be in touch, okay? I'm sorry... for everything." She wondered at this point why the fuck anyone would go big when they could just go home.

"C'mon April. Why are you leaving? Really?"

"Because they asked me to, Jackson. It's time."

"Please... don't go."

* * *

"Hello."

"Hello Kepner. I don't have to use a funny voice, do I? You know who this is."

"Yes, I do."

"Weird, huh? Since the last time we..."

"Hello...? Hello... Webber, hello?"

The call she'd been expecting, but cut too short. Well at least it wouldn't have given Ben Warren and his techs time to get a trace. She'd bet money on it that none of those nerds could hold a candle to Reed.

**J-------------------------A**

"Hey."

"Hey."

"You're a wanted woman."

"Oh, I like to think so."

"Seriously. Warren put an actual warrant out on you."

"Eh, not the first time."

"So, are you gonna tell me or what?"

"Oh, yeah. Webber called me."

"I know. What'd he say?"

"Well whatever he wanted to say, he didn't have time."

"Why the hell is he still here? What does he want?"

"I'm guessing he'll call back soon and tell me."

"Your phones not safe. The FBI..."

"... have a tap on the line. But they don't have a trace yet. If they had a trace then I'd be arrested already."

"Maybe so, but sooner or later they'll get a trace on you."

"I know. But I can't get rid of my phone until Webber calls. It's all very suspenseful."

Huge sigh. "What does he want?"

"Who?"

"Webber!"

"We'll see."

"Now you're being evasive."

"What beady little eyes birds have. Tiny dinosaurs you know?"

"I know. I know you know what he wants. What does he want?"

Not that she was looking for a distraction – she could prevaricate with the best of procrastinators – but her phone ringing was a welcome interruption.

"Hello."

"Sorry I had to hang up on you. Busy day."

"Yeah, no problem. You know this phone is not safe, lemme call you back in a moment."

"Okay."

She procured a replacement phone from a random stranger in the park. All it cost was all the money she had on hand. Three hundred dollars and her phone. Stranger scored. She dialed the payphone number that Webber had called from.

"Hello Richard. If that's your real name."

Ignoring her needling, he jumped right in. "I think we should meet and talk. Just the two of us."

"Like a date?"

"Ha-ha, yes. No. Look, the game is over. I call it a very honorable tie. Now that it's over, I really think that we should talk. A truce. No weapons or tricks. Just talk. Then we both walk away."

"Talk. About what?"

"Well, everything. I think we both could use a little closure, don't you? It has to be today. Now. I'm kinda pressed for time."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"Now don't be timid now, Kepner. I could have killed you many times, but I haven't, have I?"

"Okay. When and where?"

"Excellent. I'll be at the Thornton Place fountain in half an hour."

"No. Don't know it. Central Bus Station, north entrance."

"Nah. It's too many people. Too many cops. That's what caused our earlier interruption."

"Do you know Lake View Cemetery?"

"Of course I do."

"Yeah, there's a chapel by the western gate."

"That ought to do. Half an hour. Don't be late, I can't wait around."

"Half an hour."

Jackson had been listening to her end of the conversation. Webber's side was easy to surmise. But he asked anyway. And not just to be polite. He was that dot i's and cross t's investigative mind.

"What did he have to say?"

"He wants to meet with me."

"It's a trap."

"Probably."

"What are you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna meet him."

"You can't."

"Trust me, Jackson. I know what I'm doing."

"April... don't do this. Think about it. The FBI is gonna get Webber soon enough."

"I don't want the FBI to get him. You knew this day was coming. It's here. Look, Jackson, I'm not looking for forgiveness, and I'm waaay past asking permission."

"Let me come with you?"

"No. I don't want you involved."

"Involved? I am involved."

"Not anymore. I'm gonna need to borrow your gun."

"My gun?"

"Yes, your gun. I'm not gonna use it, it's just a prop. Jackson. Trust me. Please. Just trust me."

Solemnly and somewhat reluctantly he handed his firearm over to her. "I do trust you, April."

"Thank you."

* * *

"Hey, Kepner."

"Hermione, I presume."

"Huh, what? This is a gun... a gat."

"I know you. I've seen you before. At SBI."

"That's right! I'm Pierce. Maggót Pierce. But my friends affectionately call me Gaggót. Webber's my father. But I'm not all into that law stuff, you know. I'm a lover not a fighter. In fact I make a great sibling, blood or not. Just ask my sisters sister-in-law. I'm so good at it I win best sibling contests!"

"Aah, gotcha. And the plot thickens," she whispered to herself.

"Oh, right. Shh, lemme handle this."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, my friend here was just reminding me that I have to search you."

"What friend?"

"Ralph. Don't mind him! He's the quiet sort. People say he's not very friendly, but he's just shy. Told me he's dying to meet Fritos, wants to play with him. You know Fritos? He's that short, hairy-footed midget from Lord of the Rings."

"Oh, I see. Ralph. He's the friend only you can see. And Fr—itos, is it? Got it." Imaginary friends? What next? Sure was a looney bin. But then again, that's what you got associating with sociopaths, I suppose. Or, in her case and since there was a direct link, psychopath would work.

"So, I'm gonna need to search you for Hermiones?"

"For what?"

"For weapons. Just like you said. I'm very smart. A Sponge-Bob. I pick up things like that," she snapped her thumb and middle finger together for emphasis. "Just ask anyone. They have to tell you that. It's in their contracts." She cupped her hand over her mouth, secretively imparting  _that_  hot morsel. “And I’m a very good copier. Get yourself a 3D printer, you as the template, add some chocha mocha to the imprint material – just like Jackson, we’re like two peas in a pod – and 123 voilà, you got yourself a Magag.”

"Oh—kay then."

"You can go ahead and put your hands up."

"How you gonna do that with one hand? Maybe you should give, err Fritos, your weapon to hold?"

She actually seemed to consider it for a wild second. But then, "It's Ralph and he has to guard the ring, duh!"

"There's no getting past that logic."

She found Jackson's gun, hidden in plain sight. But then that was what it was there for. It served its purpose. "Naughty, naughty. Trying to sneak in a Hermione, hey?"

"Worth a shot."

"You can go in now."

The chapel in the cemetery. She knew it well. It was where the funeral services were held and all of her family were buried in the adjoining plots. This was a significant meeting spot.

"Kepner. Thank you for being so punctual."

"You lied to me."

"Ah, well. As did you, I see. What a couple of scamps we are, huh? I promise that is the last lie I will ever tell you. And since we're being so honest lemme just say, you're a terrible driver."

"Maybe you're just a control freak."

"Listen, you have made a great mistake, Kepner."

"I make grave mistakes all the time. Everything seems to work out."

"No, what I mean is that both you and the SBI have made a terrible mistake. I'm not the Icepick Killer... GRed John."

"What?"

"I'm not GRed John. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm just a humble foot-soldier in The Blake Association. GRed John is one of the top brass."

"I'm not sure I believe you."

"Well, that's your privilege. But I am telling you the truth. You all just jumped to the wrong conclusion."

"Okay. So who is GRed John?"

"I have no idea. Honestly. No idea. The Association works on a strictly need to know basis."

"Supposing what you say is true, then we could have had this talk on the phone."

"Yeah, but if we talked on the phone then you probably wouldn't have come to meet me, would you? And I was told to call you, tell you the game's over and arrange a meeting."

"Why? Why am I here?"

"Please, don't think for a moment that I am happy about this. The Association doesn't like loose ends. Just hates 'em. So..." Motioning towards his spawn, who had been quietly waiting in the wings. Which fact alone was astonishing. Just from that one meeting she could tell that Pierce was extremely self-centered and it did not sit well with her when she was not the center of all attention, not having the world revolve around her. "... Go on, Margaret."

"Wait. Listen. Let's talk about this. Just wait."

"No. I'm truly sorry, but it's totally outa my hands. I always liked you, Kepner. You were an underdog, fired twice, yet you survived. Not only that, you excelled. You could've been my daughter," and realizing his faux pas darted a quick glance towards the shadowy figure who happened to already fit the role. "...in-law," he tacked on.

"No. No. Pierce, don't. This is not necessary."

Maggót Pierce pulled the trigger.

"Hey... what? I'm your fa—"

"Meh—sperm donor."

"Mag—gie... Why?"

"You only get killed off when your behavior is bad. If you're nice, you die nice, Richard."

Oh, Buuurn... Immediately apply chilled water to the cauterized area! But did that mean that Richard Webber had been a bad boy?

"Or if you're me. I am invisible!"

A voice from the grave, "Invincible, Pierce, not in— nevermind. Thank you. You can wait outside. Just make sure we're left in peace. Hello April."

"Hi." Finally. The who she'd been waiting for.

**J-------------------------A**

"Well Kepner, here we are." Walking down the aisle she commented on the dead body. "Poor Dick. Smart but dumb. It never occurred to him that  _I am_  The Blake Association."

"Why'd you have to kill him?"

"Everyone thinks he's GRed John, don't they? Sexists. So, it would seem a fitting end to the story if you two found yourselves murdered, err dead... together. No one will look any deeper. And this town ain't big enough for the two of us. I'm putting you out of business, Kepner... permanently."

"So I'm supposed to die, am I? After all these years. Seems kinda unfair."

"It's totally fair. I know  _I'm_  going to survive because the show cannot go on without  _me_. _I_  cracked the glass ceiling.  _I_  got the twenty million. My fans adore  _everything I do_... I'm a combined Rihanna and Beyoncé. I can do anything and people just love me. Everyone loves  _me_. The crowd loves me, they even call me Boo. So, game's over and  _I_  won."

"It's not a game. It's my life. My career."

"I'm bored with all this. There's a winner and a loser. That's a game."

"It's not a game I asked to play."

"No, but you played it very well, nonetheless. You were fun, challenging. Thank you. But, come next season, no one will even remember you existed."

Some people were thought of fondly, others less so. A few were remembered by many and some by only a few. Now while the murdering psychopathic bitch was delusional, it did give her pause to wonder the merit of her words.

"You probably have a lot of questions for me. We have time if you want."

"I have no questions. You're an evil, sexually perverted sociopath with pathetic delusions of grandeur... and a self-involved narcissist with delusions of adequacy. The rest is just details." She still wasn't certain if it was psychopathy or sociopathy they were dealing with here. Most likely a combination of both. So she used them interchangeably.

"Evil, sexually perverted sociopath? I guess I have to own that. But… delusions of grandeur? No. I have no delusions. I built a secret empire, I control the lives of thousands of people. My word is life and death and nobody knows who I am. Now if that's not grandeur, I donno what you call it?"

"I call it the ravings of a squalid ego-maniac."

"You see? For no reason at all you're rude and contemptuous. That's why your parents, sister and kid are dead. Who are you to butt in here? Make obnoxious judgements about me? I have suffered. I can so relate to the turmoil of being different... you know how hard it is to be blonde? I have to get a highlight every month! So who are you? Who  _are_  you?"

"Nobody."

"Nobody," she nodded confirmation of  _her_  judgement. "You didn't know me. You don't know me. You have no idea. Here's your problem Kepner... you're a smart, strong woman but you have vile, disgusting 13-year old fans. And you're arrogant. You can't imagine someone smarter than you. Which is why I've been ahead of you at every step along the way."

"You're holding the gun, you wanna brag? Go ahead, I'm not gonna stop you."

"You still donno how I fooled you, do you? How did I survive that bomb? How did I know all the names on your list?"

"Is this what you've been missing? Appreciation, hmm? You want me to applaud?  _Pick me. Choose me. Love me._ "

"You've no idea, do you?"

"I don't know how you got the list of suspects. That was a good trick. But the bomb gag is simple. There were two explosions. The first was a concussion bomb, knocked everyone out. The second, lethal bomb that killed Sloan and Shepherd only went off after you dragged Webber, Montgomery and me out of harm's way."

"Correct."

"Faking your own death was easy. Owen Hunt was Blake Association. His job gave him access to the primary DNA database. He switched your DNA records with a body that you had on ice. A surrogate for the geriatric, hostile uterus that is you. You brought the body to my house in the trunk of your car and you put it alongside the Mc-boys."

"Very good. Your hindsight is twenty-twenty."

"Oh I knew all along – when we got to seven suspects – that it was you. You know  _your_  problem Grey, you're not as smart as you think you are."

"You are irrelevant, Kepner. I'm gonna wipe you off the face of the earth and then dance it out on your grave."

"Can I show you something?"

"Sure."

She held out her hand to hand it over.

"Breadcrumbs?"

Followed by the magician's trick of an appearing pigeon. Voilà, GRed John's discovered phobia.

She got the drop on her and while the tiny avenging dinosaur dodged and distracted, she removed the gun she'd stashed, taped to the underside of the first pew in the second row – she should clue Jackson in about this advantage of having hard church seats – and shot Medusa Grey in the abdomen.

The loud retort brought the ignoramus running, which earned her a fatal shot too.

Her final words, "Where’d you get the Hermione?"

**J-------------------------A**

Grey was wounded but still conscious. Bleeding profusely. Which was kinda appropriate, considering all her victims blood that she'd spilt.

"A bird. Clever."

"The bomb was a mistake. It was theatre. I knew that whatever the truth looked like the opposite must be true."

"Please don't… don't kill me."

"Oh now you want mercy? After all you've done?"

"You're not like me. You're a good person. Average. But good. It will haunt you..."

"Oh, I'm not hesitating. I'm just savoring the moment. You're the Icepick Killer. GRed John. Well, Jane, I suppose. I have to say I'm a little disappointed…"

They were interrupted by the squeaking sound of the chapel door opening, followed by an exclamation as a woman stepped in and witnessed the scene in front of her.

"Oh my God."

"Help! Please. She's gonna kill me."

"My God."

"I'm with the police, the SBI and you need to leave."

"You don't look like an officer?"

"Yes, I am. Just do as I say and leave right now."

"Please, put down that gun."

"You need to go."

"Whatever's happened here, more violence is not the answer."

"You don't understand."

"I do understand. I know how angry you must be."

"No, you don't. And you have to go now."

"In all good conscience... I cannot let you hurt my star. My talent. My white savior."

"Seriously?!"

"Yeah, I know you're white too, but I don't like you. You're expendable. Seriously, she—I mean I, don't want any talent to threaten or overshadow her, you understand? Denzel came for her! For her."

These were some serious whack jobs here. Unhinged and toxic to boot. She needed to distance herself from their madness and avarice. Here it meant defending herself. So she retaliated to the show-ruiners wild blows by knocking her out cold.

While she'd tussled with yet another of GRed's cronies, Grey managed to get away. Wounded and on foot in a cemetery, she didn't get far. She caught up to her at the duck pond. A peaceful venue for such a violent altercation.

"911 what's your emergency?" she heard emanating from Grey's mobile.

"Please help... she's killing me... Aah..."

She kicked the phone away, out of Grey's reach.

"Please don't kill me. Let me live. I'll tell you how I got the names on your list."

"I don't care. Shhh..." She placed her hands around that scrawny throat, choking. "I want you to blink once for no, twice for yes. Are you sorry that you killed my son, Samuel, my parents, Joe and Karen, and my sister, Alice?"

Two blinks.

"Good. Good. You afraid to die?"

Again, two blinks.

"Good."

She'd heard that saying about vengeance being a dish best served cold. Yes. Yes it was.

But what about love?

" _You've reached Jackson Avery. Leave a message."_

"Jackson… it's over. It's done. I just want you to know I'm okay. I'm gonna miss you."

* * *

" _Dear Jackson..._

_Hope this finds you well. All's good here. I have my routines. Weather's finally turned, it's a little cooler. Far from cold. The oceans still warm and with the warm ocean currents comes an abundance of sea life. Just yesterday I watched a pod of dolphins play so close to shore I could almost touch them. These are the kind of things I think you'd enjoy._

_Luckily no tornados or hurricanes but I hear America has had one... a tough hurricane, one of the wettest ever seen from the standpoint of water. Hah-Hah. Well, he is_ _your_ _President._

_You can't help but hum to that Beach Boys golden oldie, even though this island is, thankfully, uncommercialized. Alexa play Kokomo._

_...Aruba, Jamaica, oh I want to take ya, Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty mama. Key Largo, Montego, baby why don't we go, Jamaica... Martinique, that Montserrat mystique._

_We'll put out to sea and we'll perfect our chemistry. And by and by we'll defy a little bit of gravity... Port au Prince, I want to catch a glimpse. Everybody knows a little place like Kokomo, now if you want to go and get away from it all, go down to Kokomo..._

_You like that, huh? I'm humming it for you._

_I've found a tailor, Mateo. A real character. I explain what I want, he doesn't agree and then he does it anyway. Despite the fabric not having a high thread count, the colors are bright and stunning and the workmanship excellent. I think you might be surprised at the look. Maybe one day you'll get to see it. Let's just say, I've gone native._

_I've been meaning to apologize for leaving you on the road that night. You being absent is the one thing that's made this new chapter strange and sad._

_Miss you._

_U no hoo..."_

**J-------------------------A**

Well, well, well... if it wasn't the Feds. Hellooo, Visitor!

"Warren. How the heck are you?"

"And here we thought we were gonna have to turn over every rock on this island to find you."

"Heard you were here and well it's only polite to stop by and say hi. Oh, how was the flight?"

"Bumpy. Pretty confident of you to front up like this."

"The extradition laws are on my side, I know you can't touch me."

"Who said I wanted to touch you? I'm here to make you an offer."

"Oh?"

"The powers that be decided that you could be valuable to the FBI. The Bureau is willing to drop all the charges against you... if you come and work for us."

"For the FBI?"

"That's right." He pulled out an official looking document. "There are the terms. You know I wanna be very clear... I don't like this deal. If it were up to me you would be headed home in a cargo plane with a sack over your head. But hey, I'm just the messenger," he shrugged.

"Interesting proposition. I'm not buying it."

"No? Whatever my feelings are about it, this," he pointed towards the discarded government promises, "is a good deal, Kepner. You really need to consider it."

"I am done with that life. I did what I had to do and I've moved on."

"That life was a job that you were very good at. If you come back you can help a lot of people. You have a gift."

"It's not a gift."

"Whatever it is, it will get you off this island and you can start your life again."

"I have. Thank you."

"Okay, then. I'll be here for another day... when you'll change your mind."

"You fuzz, so damn arrogant that you know it all."

"I prefer to call it confidence."

"From now on, by law, no one is allowed to ask me what I plan to do with my life or about my future plans. I've updated my privacy policy."

"Hmm. Speaking of arrogant, Confidence Wo-man…"

"By the way, how'd you find me?"

"The letters to your boyfriend, Avery. Pretty smart to send them to your carnie friends and have them sneak 'em over to him. Just not quite smart enough."

"Just trying to do my bestpacito here."

**J-------------------------A**

Oh, oh, oh... Alpha-male convention?

"Hey..."

"Hello. Nice beard. Going for a LumberJack-son look?"

"I'll have you know that this is the latest in Beach Island attire, thank you very much. So, did I hear G-man correctly? You're a wanted fugitive?"

"Well, wanted anyway."

"I agree. I would vote for you, my partner... my road dog. I literally just paid my damn dues just so I could!"

"You are my..." Everything.

"Is you is or is you ain't my baby? Joyyyyy and Pain. Sunshiiiine and Rain."

She leapt into his arms. Question answered.

"I feel Lovebombed. You really came here for me?"

"Trust me, I will follow you anywhere."

"I guess when something feels really good, it can't be bad, right?"

"You weaseled your way in..."

"Into the investigation?"

"Into my heart, I mean."

"We are Mint to be. Jackson… what?"

"I'm not crying... you're crying."

"Aaw, it's okay."

"You're mine. Mine. Don't go. I love… everything about you, okay? Even the things I don't like… I love…"

"Hey! What's not to like?"

"How about the small matter of murdering a couple of serial killers?"

"Well, nobodies perfect."

"Okay, the best solution is to never speak to Warren again... or any of them, really."

"Or?!"

"Or… we work out a deal, on our terms. They get two for the price of, well two. I don't have a trust fund, yacht or penthouse money so we're gonna need your salary too when we get married..."

"You know what? I'm gonna get you one of those frothy thingies so you can make your own lattes. And no sending out laundry, we'll get a washer/dryer... Wait what?"

"... And no more counting cards or carnie cons please, that would be very unbecoming of Federal Agents. Hey? Are you even listening to me?"

"Wait, go back... Mar—ry? We're getting married? Why? Cause that's easier to explain?"

"No… no, coz we love each other and we want to spend every day together until we die. Hopefully of natural causes. And, you're right. I don't want to just date, April. I want the whole damn thing."

"We'll kick names and take ass!"

"Yell Heah... err Hell yeah?"

"We can do this!"

"You're freaking crazy."

"Jackson, we are gonna do this. I can feel it, this is it!"

"How come you're so confident all of a sudden?"

"Have you met me?"

"There's so much I wanna say... but Nah."

"I'm a soldier!"

"Yeah, I donno what that means."

She lifted herself onto her tippy toes and landed one on him. No dreaming this time... wet or dry.

"Should I not have done that?"

"Don't write checks that your ass can't cash."

"That's why I'm easy for you, easy like Sunday morning…"

"And if something feels really really easy, it can't be difficult, right?"

"Pfft... good, bad, easy, difficult... we got this. We'll be incredible together. Me and you."

"Me and you."

"Ooh boy… Mama Mia, here we go again..."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Take 2? Nah, lol. Slightly shorter than the other, but still a mammoth story. Apologies for a One-Shot being this long, but you know me – logical progression ;-) I had this partly done for the challenge, completed it because of you. You know who you are. Thank you for you unwavering support. And also for me, I guess. My catharsis.


	14. Series-Fic Credits

**Date: 31-01-2019 Analysis**

Challenge and upload began, sans author names, 30-12-2017. Authors revealed 14-10-2018.

 **FanFiction:** Total of  **15,635**  Views,  **105**  Reviews, Favs:  **16** , Follows:  **19**

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Found by Imayhaveapoint                                 -  **13**

Blood by Jerry_L                                                -  **13**

Orphan Grey by Another-Maggie                       -  **12**

More Than A Best Friend by Melissaeverdeen13 -  **12**

I Put A Spell On You by Cendella                        -  **12**

Avery Boys by Averysanatomy                            -  **10**

One Night by Japril12                                         -  **07**

McDreamy's Creek by Alongwalktoforever          -  **06**

Happy Pills And Razor Blades by MelMel1234     -  **03**  

The Grey Place by FaziO                                      -  **01**

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Orphan Grey by Another-Maggie                         -  **01**

More Than A Best Friend by Melissaeverdeen13   -  **01**

Found by Imayhaveapoint                                     -  **01**

I Put A Spell On You by Cendella                           -  **01**

Find You by Demitruli                                           -  **03**

Avery Boys by Averysanatomy                               -  **01**

One Night by Japril12                                            -  **05**

Happy Pills And Razor Blades by MelMel1234        -  **01**

McDreamy's Creek by Alongwalktoforever             -  **01**

The Grey Place by FaziO                                        -  **14**

Grey Matter by FaziO                                             -  **23**

**The Series:**

1\. The Challenge - Fic Preview and Trailer

2\. Buffy The Vampire Slayer

3\. Orphan Black

4\. Catfish

5. Lost

6. Supernatural

7\. Once Upon A Time

8\. Gilmore Girls

9. Friends

10\. Freestyle (with shades of Sherlock & Elementary)

11\. Dawson's Creek

12\. The Good Place

13\. The Mentalist

14\. Series Credits


End file.
